Resident Evil: Exodus
by UnScripted0
Summary: After the events of Afterlife Albert Wesker is left to survive in the wastelands left in Umbrella's wake; fighting to reclaim his place at any cost necessary. Too bad the group of survivors that's stuck with him don't quite see it that way.
1. Chapter 1

_Okay boys and girls this is going to get a little crazy. Just a few things to note: first this story is going to start at the end of Afterlife and run through Retribution. Second this is based solely on the movies. Some of the chapters will be long others drabbles and the timeline is probably going to skip around. I own nothing but my OCs and the ideas herein and I ask that everybody pay attention to the M rating. It is here for many reasons- sex, gore, violence, blood and loads of swearing. Thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoy my insanity!_

* * *

**Crash Course Saviour**

The waves crashed against the shore as fire reigned from the skies, blanketing the wet sand with chunks of debris and ash. Far off in the distance the Arcadia could be seen, explosions and gunshots barely audible as Umbrella waged war against the survivors that had taken the cargo ship. In the end it was a futile attempt-the Red Queen would never allow Project Alice to escape unscathed and those who stood with her would perish. The AI would wipe them from the face of the planet, leaving them to rot in the sun for the infected to gnaw upon.

_If they were lucky._

But even with that knowledge spiraling through his brain Albert Wesker was finding he couldn't really care; too busy using his last stores of energy to drag himself through the surf. He'd found Alice's bomb scant seconds before the explosion, barely managing to jettison himself from the plane before it went careening into the pacific. And while he'd survived he found himself in a rather dire situation. He hadn't been in complete control of himself since his first face-to-face altercation with Abernathy; the injuries he'd sustained giving T the opportunity to slowly overtake his more human impulses.

He'd been deteriorating faster and faster, having to feed on raw genetic material- survivors, test subjects, employees- more frequently until the crew of the Arcadia finally fled for their lives. Before when he'd been on a proverbial floating lab with an almost endless supply of 'viable candidates' he'd found himself hard pressed to keep from gorging; having to work harder and harder to find some form of control to regulate the changes he was undergoing.

No, that wasn't the ideal situation to find oneself in-especially when said control was waning and fraying with every passing day.

But now? Stuck trying to wade through the bloody polluted waves; dodging chunks of debris and bodies as he slowly made his way to shore? Burned and cut to pieces and wounded so severely that he could feel his limbs refusing to move; felt the muscle and bones tearing and cracking with every move? Now he was even _**worse **_off. He needed to feed, to try and replenish some of the energy that he'd wasted lumbering against the tide; dragging the infernal torn and waterlogged parachute behind him because the damned release had been melted into the skin of his chest in the blast.

Project Alice and her tagalongs be damned. He had to get out of the water and away from this chute . . . and then he _**had**_ to find something to eat.

_Something alive and uninfected._

The tread of his boots finally dug deeper into the shifting sand underfoot, letting him breathe a sigh of relief as the waves rolled back; only crashing to just below his chest as he found his footing. Wesker grunted, tugging the parachute up over the crest of the breaking waves; nearly toppling as his charred burned leg ached and twisted in the seabed. He winced as he finally drug himself from the surf, running a hand over his face as he fell to his knees in the damp sand. Grimacing at the holes in his gloves-and the black flesh and exposed bone beneath them before he sighed.

The beach was littered with bleached bones and refuse, the debris from his plane almost indiscernible from the carcasses of the ships and vehicles that had crashed here before. When Los Angeles had been exposed to T it had taken the virus less than seventy-two hours to ravage the city and its neighbors; rendering over eighty percent of the population dead or turned before the end of the third day. By the second week of the Outbreak only the insane or insanely desperate would venture into the larger cities-meaning that his situation had just become even direr.

Alice had rallied her pathetic little group together from what was left of a survivor camp within a prison . . . and even then only a handful had survived to actually board the Arcadia. He doubted anything living would be within a hundred kilometers of the prison or the battle still waging over the waves he'd escaped from. Meaning he was going to have to make due with whatever he managed to scavenge before he could arrange a rendezvous with Valentine and the others.

_If he even could._

He shifted his jaw, popping it back in place as he felt his mouth start to water; an all too familiar scent wafting to him over the decay and ash on the air. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply before he let himself smirk; the torn burned tissue crinkling before his jaw started to unhinge. Something was alive in the buildings just beyond the shore, the panicked and fearful undertone to the scent almost ambrosia over the saccharinely sweet stench of the infected.

Wesker shifted, pushing to his feet as he reached for the straps to the parachute; tearing the melted metal and plastic from his ribs and chest without care as he steadied himself. He could wallow in his predicament later but at the moment there were far more pressing matters at hand.

_Like saving his dinner for himself._

* * *

Rumer moved through the dark convenience store stock room, keeping his light close as he ducked beneath the caving ceiling tiles and over turned shelves; his eyes constantly searching the dark for anything of value. It was normally suicide to come into the cities, the large close buildings and crowded roads that had once been so comforting transforming into a deathtrap once the undead were factored in. But they were running dangerously low on _**good**_ supplies . . . and he didn't care what anyone thought. He would risk getting eaten before he would trust anything out of a dented can again. The last time had almost killed him. He took a step further into the dark room, green irises scanning the back room for anything they could use; anything that might help them survive today.

_So they could repeat the same damn process tomorrow._

He shifted, cutting his eyes over his shoulder to Sol as the older man cursed; a loud whack sounding before fading yellow light illuminated the man's face as he grimaced. Weathered tanned skin seemed darker under the artificial light, the man's wise blue eyes eerily light and focused as he inspected the torch; thick calloused fingers smoothing over the metal casing as he fiddled with the switch. Sol shifted on his feet, tucking his bag over his shoulder as he focused his full attention on the dying light; quickly unscrewing the lid and tweaking the receptors before he reassembled it.

Nodding to himself as the light flickered before steadying; the bulb burning bright white instead of the murky yellow from moments before.

Rumer smirked, shaking his head before he turned towards the back corner; white light blanketing the otherwise pitch room. Only Sol would stop during a run to mess with a flashlight . . .

Movement caught his eye as a shuffling sound reached his ears, making him turn towards the shut door tucked off to the side. He was deathly still for a few long moments, holding his breath as he listened and watched. The door moved but just barely, the fallen filing cabinet keeping it from opening all the way while the shuffling increased in volume. Rumer moved closer, his free hand going to the sharpened piece of rebar at his hip.

He and his group had learned early on that gunshots drew too much attention, turning one zombie into twenty in the time it took you to pull the trigger. While it was harder-riskier-to do things by hand it made them all safer in the long run. And to be perfectly honest he had become partial to the handheld spear; deferring to it instead of his guns whenever he was in close quarters. Something that ate his sister alive.

He tightened his grip on the leather and gauze wrapped rebar, moving quietly towards the door. He stepped up and onto the metal cabinet, wincing when the metal creaked and groaned; denting beneath his feet before it settled. Rumer moved down the overturned drawers, craning his head to peak into the blocked room. Only to breathe a sigh of relief at what he saw. The door led to a small room with an overturned desk, the back wall crumbled away to show the outdoors behind the store.

Rumer stepped off of the cabinet, pushing it away as he forced the door open; his eyes trained on the burning skies and waves in the distance in awe. He moved further into the room, barely hearing Sol call out to him; his mind focused on what was behind the fallen wall. There was some kind of ship off the shore, flames dancing along the hull as it wavered and staggered over the choppy waves. The skies were dark, clouds overhead threatening another round of torrential rain while thunder clapped in the distance.

Someone-some crazy out of towner had probably tried to board one of the ghost ships in the harbor; had tried to set sail without going over every last nook and cranny . . . Too bad they didn't know that the undead had claimed all of the them; caught in the holds and underbellies of the rotting metal giants while they waited for their next meal.

The boy watched the flames, never noticing the shadows move and recede; giving way to decaying flesh and bloody gnawing teeth. Rumer's eyes stayed trained on the war beyond the ruined store as clouded red tracked him; the walker's jaws working as it moved towards him slowly. When rotten bony fingers clutched at his shirt the dying ship's spell was broken; Rumer flinching back as he turned and swung the rebar spear wildly.

He stumbled over chunks of drywall and ceiling boards, staggering back to land on his wrist hard as the walker advanced; jaws gaping as it hissed and reached for him. But just as its skin grazed his the zombie was pushed back, a firm grip on the back of his shirt hoisting him up and away as the creature lunged forward again. Rumer barely caught himself as a black and blonde blur shot past him; a large figure craning the infected out as though it were inspecting it. Right before a cruel snort filled the room; followed by a sickening crunch.

Rumer watched as the figure-no the large man jerked his wrist; snapping the zombie's neck with seemingly no effort before he tossed it aside. The creature dropped to the floor, coagulated blood and pus oozing from the tears in its neck and jaws; the head almost completely severed as it lulled listlessly to the side. The boy watched the infected still, his eyes jerking back to his savior as the man stepped closer to him. But when he stepped out of the shadows-and into the light of the dying dismal day Rumer felt his heart stop.

This wasn't a man-not a normal one. The left side of his face was burned almost beyond recognition, the skin pale and waxy as what was left of his lips stretched down into a firm frown. He watched the man crane his head to the side; his eyes such a dark hazel they almost seemed red as they surveyed the trashed room. Rumer held his breath, eyes wide as he watched the man look around; his brain refusing to function as he struggled to process what was before him.

There was no way this person should be alive, not with exposed bone and so much burned damaged tissue. He might not be a brainiac like his sister but he knew enough about medicine and anatomy to get by . . . and there was no plausible way that this man was breathing. Let alone moving and tossing zombies around like tinkertoys.

Finally the man sighed, turning back to lock his decidedly red-not hazel, RED-eyes on him; his damaged lips twitching before he took a step forward. Every survival instinct Rumer possessed suddenly surged to life, causing him to scuttle back away from the doorway as he pointed; trying to push the words past his lips as he spotted something even more terrifying. The man just raised a perfect golden brow, eyes condescending as Rumer stuttered and pointed; trying to keep his voice low.

"L-l-look- . . . Be-h-hind-"

The man turned his whole body quickly, allowing him to see the walker that had snuck up behind the stranger; the larger zombie wasting no time in barreling forward with its arms outstretched and jaws open. The stranger spun on his less damaged leg, the exposed bone and tissue from the other seeping blood as he backed into the overturned desk. The Stranger hissed, reaching to clutch his injury as the zombie lunged for his exposed back. Only to recoil as black blood and tissue sprayed his face in time with a deafening roar; the walker dropping dead at his feet as the Stranger staggered back.

Rumer glanced to the doorway, wide eyes thankful when he spotted the familiar outline of Sol; his friend pumping the sawed off shotgun again as he raised it. The Stranger looked him over before he turned back to him; something in his eyes making Rumer's soul go cold. Normal or not this man wasn't like the other infected they'd stumbled upon. He thought and felt . . . and as Sol took aim and pulled the trigger; catching the man square in the chest Rumer knew he felt pain too. How could he not with the way he clutched at his chest; trembling hands clutching at his broken bleeding breast as he collapsed to his knees.

Sol pushed into the room as he repumped the gun, the spent shell casing dropping to the ground with a clatter as he tip toed around the now gasping stranger. Rumer watched, almost dazed as the man heaved and coughed; globs of bright red blood staining the cement at his knees as the Stranger struggled to breathe. Sol stepped closer, kneeling as he pushed the shotgun barrel against the man's temple; Rumer's voice finally returning as Sol's finger skated down the trigger guard.

Rumer moved, springing forward as he reached for the gun; his body blocking the shot as he started talking.

"_**STOP**_, Sol! Stop! He saved me!"

Sol's aim wavered ever so slightly before he shook himself, keeping the gun trained at the man now gasping behind him; eyes troubled but hard as he shook his head.

"He's infected, Rum. I saw the red to his eyes myself. Move."

Rumer shook his head, staying in the shot as he pointed back; the gagging wheezing noises causing his panic rise. He knew how this looked but by God he knew what he'd seen. This man-this stranger had saved him. And infected or not he wasn't like the others. It just wasn't right that he let him be executed after he'd intervened. Especially since he hadn't had to.

"_**NO!**_ He saved me, Solomon. I can't forget that. And look, he isn't trying to hurt us. Hell, he's so torn up I don't think he can-"

Sol snorted, steadying the gun again; eyes clearing as he motioned the gun towards the man behind them.

"All the more reason to put him out of his misery. There's no hospitals that can help him, no doctors that aren't looking out for themselves."

Rumer felt his face go cold, his shoulders squaring as he glared at Solomon. In the beginning it had always been Sol who had pushed him and his sister to remember that they were human, to not rely too heavily on their instincts just in case they lost touch with who they'd been before. Now nearly two years later Sol was still the philosopher, still the shining voice of reason and hope among their little ragtag quartet.

He was the whole reason they were here! To find supplies and then look for Arcadia-wherever or whatever it was. So they could rejoin people, hold the illusions of safety in numbers until they made their next move. So why was he so insistent on this? Rumer shook his head, stepping closer to Sol; grabbing the barrel of the gun and aiming it at his chest. He kept the muzzle there, chin held high as he stood his ground. All the while praying that Sol didn't call his bluff.

"I won't let you do this. He's not a monster-he saved me. And I won't let you put him down just because he's different."

Solomon's eyes trailed back to the stranger gasping and kneeling behind them before he sighed; lowering the weapon with a huff before he slung it over his shoulder. Rumer watched Sol kneel, grabbing the stranger under one arm and hefting it over his shoulders; careful of the burns and seeping wounds as he heaved the man up off of his knees. After a second he turned, hazel eyes locking on green as he jerked his head towards the stranger's left.

"Well? You're the one who wants to save him. I'm not carrying him out by myself here."

Rumer nodded, scrambling back to the doorway to grab the bags Sol had dropped before; slinging them over his shoulders before he joined Sol. Slowly they lifted the stranger, helping to maneuver his broken mangled leg over the dead bodies and the fallen cabinet; easing him towards the front of the store. If they could get him to the Jeep then they could get to Rhome and Cill. They would know what to do-how to help him.

And if they couldn't then they could decide what to do.

Sol stopped at the broken glass doors, helping Rumer prop against the warped metal frame as he supported the stranger's weight; the odd man's head lulling to drop onto his shoulder as he groaned. Rumer shifted, nudging him awake; nervously chattering as Sol darted towards the older model Jeep. He needed to keep him awake, conscious and at last aware or getting him into the jeep was going to be damn near impossible.

"Hey-HEY! C'mon man. You need to stay awake . . . What's your name?"

The stranger roused, flicking his eyes to him before they closed again; Rumer's heart skipping a beat as he noticed the color. He'd sworn before that the man's eyes had been ringed in red-the same as the infected. But up close he could see they were actually blue. A light almost crystalline blue. Rumer turned to the Jeep as it pulled up and onto the curb, his eyes locking with Sol's as the older man pushed out of the vehicle. The stranger turned towards the noise, eyes open as he took in the vehicle before he sagged again; his breathing becoming erratic as more blood started to pour from the open wounds on his chest.

"_Al-bert . . ."_

Rumer paled as Sol rushed to him into the car, cursing the whole time they strapped the man into the seat.

"Damn it! This bleeding is getting bad. *SIGH* I didn't sign on for this. Just supposed to be a simple run-no muss, no fuss. Now we're taking in strays . . ."

Sol sighed, stepping back as he shrugged out of his dirty flannel over shirt; bunching it up before he pressed it against the stranger's chest. He turned, nodding to Rumer as he moved around to the driver's side; hands shaking as he glanced around skittishly.

"Get in and hold that on the wound. He can't afford the blood loss and we don't need the attention. Gunshot was bad enough-we don't need to ring anymore dinner bells."

Rumer nodded, climbing in the backseat; holding the shirt firmly against the stranger's chest as Sol slid in behind the wheel. He watched the older man sigh, his salt and peppered hair falling around his face in shaggy waves as he laid his head on the steering wheel. Rumer bit his chapped bottom lip before he scowled, turning back to check on their newest addition as his breath hitched and stuttered. He knew that this life was hard but Sol had never liked the darker side of survival; always trying to force reason and morals into their decisions.

_Something he'd just gone against by almost shooting the stranger-Albert- bleeding nearly to death beside him._

Movement brought his eyes back to the front as Sol cranked the car, not even bothering to swerve and miss the few walkers staggering towards them. He clipped the first two, mowing over the third completely; the bump and jerk of the car telling him that he'd crushed at least half of it if he'd missed the sickening wet crunch of bone and tissue. Rumer didn't even bother looking back, knowing that he didn't want to see the mess his friend's driving had made; keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead of them.

Albert moved, the groan in his throat gurgling as he tried to shift away from the shirt; the fabric taking burnt skin and dried blood with it when he jerked back. Rumer hissed, pressing harder before he turned to Sol; nodding as their eyes locked in the rearview mirror.

They needed to get back.

_And quick._

* * *

Rhome shifted as she glanced at the man bleeding all over the backseat of the Jeep, running her hands down her face as Cill paced beside her. The man-_**Albert**_ her brother claimed- had apparently saved him from a walker before a second had descended upon them. Which is where Sol had come in. Sol admitted to shooting the man once, had almost shot him twice because he'd sworn his eyes were red but Rumer had stayed his hand.

And was refusing to let them even contemplate just ending his suffering the way Cill and Sol had suggested.

She sighed, her fingers going to knot in her dirty curls; her lips quivering as she fought the urge to delve into the packs of cigarettes tucked into the bottom of her bag. She'd happened across the cartons while they'd been upstate, scant days after the four of them fled Oakland. And while she knew the cigs would ease her nerves she was also aware she was dangerously low . . . and in the world they lived in she needed to conserve as much as she possibly could.

Still didn't mean that she wouldn't eat her left foot to be able to smoke one right about now.

The stranger shifted in the backseat, groaning as bright blood bubbled out of his chest; Rhome's eyes tracking the popping bubbles before she glanced to Cill. The former Ranger sighed, dipping his chin once before Sol and her brother sighed in relief. Solomon had been a retired philosophy professor turned bookstore owner-before the end-and Rumer had been in his sophomore year at Peralta. And in spite of everything they'd seen and done to survive the past two years she knew that neither would just let this man bleed to death.

Not if they could help him.

_The only problem was she wasn't sure if they could._

Rhome turned to Cill, motioning him closer to the car as Sol and Rumer watched her; careful to keep her voice low as her eyes moved over the broken battered man before them. He looked like he'd been blown to hell-before he'd been shot.

"You're aware that there isn't any way we can do this right? Not with the limited supplies we have here."

Cill nodded, bending into the Jeep to check the man; clucking his tongue against the roof of his mouth before he sighed.

"He could be saved-if we had the proper stuff. His chest looks bad but the wound's not too terribly deep. The burns need to be cleaned and debrided; disinfected and wrapped. The bones could be reset but he won't be moving for a while . . ."

Rhome nodded, huffing to herself as she eased into the Jeep; carefully peeling back the soaked shirt to inspect the gunshot wound. Cill was right, it wasn't as bad as it had originally looked. Honestly before she'd thought his lungs were hanging through the gas in his ribs but now she could see that the breast bone was still-mostly-intact. Meaning his organs had only suffered concussive damage rather than straight out trauma.

She bit her lip, cutting her eyes to Cill before she sighed again; letting the shirt fall back to the man's chest as she nodded. She didn't like it-hell she hated it-but they couldn't do nothing. Even if every instinct in her body was screaming at her to let this man fade she couldn't. Her brother's conscience wouldn't be able to bear it. She reached out, smoothing his mottled hair from his forehead; wincing at how feverish his skin was before she cut her eyes back to Rumer.

Who had stepped closer, looking into the car like a fretful parent rather than a stranger helping a stranger.

_God they weren't going to survive this unscathed._

"Alright, alright. I get it. Let's find a hospital . . . then we'll see where we go from their alright?"

* * *

_Alright . . . on to the next chapter._


	2. Chapter 2

_And here we go. Be warned there is gore and swearing here. And zombies . . . _

* * *

**Safe Harbor**

_Rhome looked over the makeshift anthropology lab in satisfaction, trying not to grin to herself as her fingers traced along the edge of the closest table. Her eyes scanned the dirt smeared bones, taking in all of the divots and cracks; every single imperfection before she moved on to the next. Recording her observations quickly as she assessed their finds, trying not to dally as she moved between the remains. _

_She knew as far as the others were concerned that the mummies and petrified bones of dead workers weren't nearly as exciting as the unearthed sacrificial chamber. But to her __**these**__ were the real find. Archeologists and anthropologists uncovered ruins and buildings all the time, new constructions and expansions putting them in places they'd never dreamed possible. But perfectly preserved remains discovered outside of the actual structure itself- all gathered around some bizarre mass grave like they'd dropped dead while tossing people in? That was an amazing thing they'd stumbled upon . . . especially with how mummified remains were mingled in with the others._

_It was almost like they had left their beliefs behind; tossing the sacred and wealthy in with the slaves and commoners. But the question was why?_

_Rhome turned, her lips spreading into a knowing grin as her research partner came to stop behind her; one of his arms looping around her waist as he tugged her back and into his chest. She giggled before she sobered, glancing around before she elbowed him; shaking her head as she tried to pull away. Nate let her, warm grey green eyes gleaming as he produced a small glass tube; what looked like dried plant remnants and seeds jingling inside of the container like a rattle._

"_Look at what we found, Ro."_

"Ro? Rhome are you in there?"

Rhome shook herself, turning to nod to Cill as he looked to her expectantly. She glanced around, surprised that they were already at Harbor UCLA Medical; the once small but pristine hospital eerily still as various leaves and pieces of trash flitted through the abandoned parking lot. The streets and alleys around the building were desolate, the breeze carrying nothing but the sounds of the waves and the occasional pop or crackle from the fire raging blocks away. They'd passed the overrun prison on their way through the city but as soon as they'd seen the large walker dragging that wicked looking pick axe no one had voiced wanting to stop and help. Not when they'd barely survive their last encounter with such a badly mutated victim years before-even if it had meant saving someone else. Rhome's eyes scanned the parking lot again, the hot sting of tears temporarily clouding her vision as she pushed the thought of the loss of life away; her lips tugging into a scowl as she forced herself to focus on the issue at hand. There were three other cars parked haphazardly through the lot; each covered in their own thick layers of dust, dirt, blood and pollen as a testament that they hadn't moved in months.

_**Years**_.

"Ro? Are you good for this?"

She turned back to Cill, blue grey eyes locking with his as she dipped her chin; her fingers tightening around the axe handle seemingly on their own. Cill's worried blue eyes scanned her face before he sighed; killing the engine as he turned to her. He reached out, taking her hand in his; smoothing her fingers out of their fists before he lifted her knuckles to his lips. Rhome closed her eyes, letting his words wash over her; trying desperately to keep the tears at bay.

"If you don't want to do this then we won't. Rumer and Solomon can deal with it-we_** all**_ will. We'll do our best to make him comfortable . . . until the end. But I'll not make you run into another building you're not sure we can get out of."

Rhome snorted, wiping at her cheeks with her free hand before she shook her head; grimacing when her dirt caked curls fell back across her brow. God wasn't it bad enough that she'd had to watch the almost platinum blonde curls stain this muddy brown because of the blood and grime? Did it really have to constantly fall in her face so she had to see it as well? She shook herself, turning to Cill with a firm look before her eyes trailed up to the rearview mirror.

She watched the stranger spread across the backseat struggle to breathe, his hands going to his chest in his sleep as he turned and groaned. His fingers tightened around the now blood stained shirt, clenching the fabric hard enough that the blood actually started to seep over his partially gloved fingers and down to the leather seats; dripping to the floorboard beneath him. She knew he was done for, that this man would never survive the night but she couldn't let him suffer.

Not for his sake-she didn't know him and every instinct in her body told her she didn't want to- but for Rumer's. She couldn't tell her brother that she was going to let _**another **_person die, not without at least trying to help them first. God why hadn't Sol just pulled the damn trigger?

"We'll be fine, Cill. We've just got to figure out where we're going and get there. Quick."

She turned back to him, squeezing his hand before she nodded. Cill sighed, reaching up to push his shaggy auburn curls out of his face; scratching at his scruffy beard and sideburns before he reached for the door. Rhome stopped him, catching him by the wrist just as his hand hit the handle; Cill's light green eyes looking to her questioningly. She bit her lip before she moved, easing across the seat to press her lips to his cheek; resting her forehead against his temple.

Cill sagged back into the seat, his fingers looping through hers as he gripped her hand; his voice raw as he chided her. But what she didn't know was why. This was their ritual, their one stupid superstition they always did to keep them safe. It had worked the first time they'd gone into an overrun building-her old offices at the research campus for the Mendellian- and it hadn't failed them yet.

"Stop all of that. We'll be _**fine**_-you just said it yourself."

He eased back, dipping to look her in the eye; repeating the same mantra they always used. But something was different this time-he almost sounded like he needed to hear it as badly as she did.

"We get in and clear our first section. Find where we're going and keep on till we get there. No muss, no fuss. Just a simple run."

Rhome nodded, taking a deep breath before she pulled back; glancing back at their guest one last time before she moved towards the door. She had no idea who this Albert was but he'd best fucking appreciate what they were doing for him. Because if he managed to pull through and didn't-or worse one of hers got hurt or killed- then she'd put a bullet in his skull herself.

* * *

Rumer watched from the passenger seat of the Honda CR-V, fingers moving over the handle to his piece as the shadows in the Jeep ahead moved about. Cill had insisted that he and Rhome take the Jeep-so not to jostle Albert around anymore than they had to. The only problem was the change in plans left him and Sol following them in the scavenged SUV, weaving between desolate cars and chunks of buildings while Cill followed Ro's instructions to the nearest-_**safest**_-hospital.

Sol sighed beside him as Ro opened the passenger door, his sister checking around her before she eased out of the vehicle. Cill was quick to follow, the 6'3" brute ducking and trialing behind Rhome as she crossed to them; Sol shaking his head while Rhome just rolled her eyes and smacked him when he was close enough. The towering Ranger just shrugged, tugging on Ro's ponytail as he wagged his brows at her; the melancholy that had hung around them dissipating as she elbowed him in the ribs.

"Big idiot. Doesn't he know that this isn't the time to joke around?"

Rumer smirked, cutting his eyes to sol as the older man grumbled; refusing to point out that not even a week before he'd been the one to slip a rubber snake in Rhome's sleeping bag. He knew Sol would just blush and bluster; spouting out some reason before he shrugged it off. The same way he did anything he didn't want to discuss. Like just how _**well**_ he'd known his sister before he'd retired . . . or _**why **_he was so intent to stick with them now that they were away from Oakland.

"He's just keeping her light, Sol. You know how she gets when she's planning something."

Sol sighed before he nodded, refusing to comment as he opened the door and made his way towards the other two. Rumer blinked, stunned before he rolled his eyes; hurrying to catch up as Rhome motioned for him to join them. He closed the car door as quietly as he could, reaching back to gather his now chin length hair into a knot at the base of his neck; Sol doing the same while Cill pulled the stretchy elastic headband from around his neck and popped it into place. His auburn curls stuck this way and that, the tresses trying to curl and kink around the brown elastic looking more like tiny spikes or horns than hair. But no one commented, knowing that Cill needed the mess out of his eyes so he could wire and shoot.

_And because despite his size the big lug was particularly sensitive about his ever growing hair._

Rhome ran her tongue over her lips, knuckles white as she clenched the ax in her right hand tighter; shifting on her feet as her eyes scanned the parking lot. So far everything seemed quiet but they all knew that could change at any moment. Especially with the bleeding moaning man in the backseat of the Jeep and the burning ruins they'd passed before.

"Cill and I are going in. We're going to clear the lobby and figure out where to go next. Once we have we'll motion you two in with him. Everyone clear on that?"

Rumer nodded, watching Cill shift his bag from one shoulder to the next; fingering the M4 anxiously as he gazed towards the hospital. They all knew that the gun was dangerously close to empty but Cill refused to leave it or his kit behind, claiming that so long as he had his demolition kit and his weapon he was still the richest Ranger on Earth. A joke that in the beginning had seemed silly . . . but now they knew it was probably a sad truth.

Finally Cill nodded, reaching out to tap Ro's arm as he started towards the building. Ro turned to Sol, giving him a weak smile before she stretched up and kissed his cheek; turning to kiss him the same way. Rumer closed his eyes as her lips grazed his cheek, trying not to let his fears and worries cloud his mind as his sister eased back. He knew why she did that, why she always kissed them goodbye before she went in to clear out a building but he didn't need her to do it here. Not when it would be his fault if that was the last goodbye he ever got from her.

She pulled back, ruffling his hair before she was off; falling into step beside Cill as they eased up to the hospital doors. Cill moved past the glassed in lobby quickly, weapon trained on the ground as he looked through the dirty glass. The two nodded to each other before Ro moved towards the doors, Cill disappearing into the shadowed entrance behind her scant seconds later. Rumer shifted on his feet, looking to Sol as he kept his eyes trained on the doors; both straining to hear the first signs of trouble.

Suddenly they heard rustling, the sounds of metal against metal and the rattle of something scraping against the pavement. Sol shifted, pulling his gun up to aim while Rumer tightened his grip on the rebar; both nearly jumping out of their skins when an old gurney came wheeling out of the shadows. The gurney rolled down the sloped entrance, wheels spinning and clattering as it nearly tipped before it came to a stop.

The mattress pad was worn and dirty; the once white cover practically saturated with dirt and blood. Rumer turned to Sol as he lowered the gun; the man shaking his head as he slung the sawed off shotgun over his shoulder. He moved, Rumer falling in behind him as they made their way to the gurney; lifting the warped dinged frame enough that the wheels didn't rattle when they started towards the car. About three steps away from the lobby they heard a telltale hiss; neither having time to react before they heard the wet sound of bone crunching and blood splattering against the floor.

Rumer looked to Sol uncertainly before another crunch echoed off the lobby walls, Sol shaking his head as he motioned back towards the Jeep.

"We can't worry about that, kid. They're good enough to handle a few walkers-and if they need help they'll signal. We've got to get him on this so we can get him inside."

Rumer sighed but nodded, helping sol lift the gurney over the parking block before they eased it around to the back of the Jeep. Sol opened the door, reaching inside to check Albert over before he shook his head.

"I have no clue how we're getting him out of here. Not without doing more damage than we already have moving him around so much . . . You think you can crawl over him? Get his shoulders up so we can slide him out and onto the bed?"

Rumer nodded, hopping into the jeep and-carefully-stepping over seat; easing around the stranger's sprawled arm and leg before he squeezed himself between the man's head and shoulders and the opposite door. The Stranger shifted and groaned before he tossed, settling again as Rumer slid his hand beneath his shoulders. He glanced up, nodding to Sol as the older man got a firm grip on the man's hips; counting aloud as they readied to pick him up.

"Alright, kid. On three. One . . . Two . . . _**Three**_-"

They moved together, lifting Albert out of the car and towards the gurney; struggling to keep him from hitting the ground as Sol fought to keep a grip on him. They almost dropped him before they managed to lay him on the stained mattress; Albert groaning and writhing as his mangled leg slipped off the top of the stretcher and banged against the metal rails. Rumer winced as Sol cursed; moving to rectify the situation as Rumer took a cautious step back.

_It almost sounded like the mutilated man had growled._

"Shit! Damn it-I know that had to hurt. Christ Rum! Don't just stand there-help me get him settled on this thing. We have no idea what we're about to run into."

Rumer nodded as he blushed, scrambling to help as he ducked his head.

_God he hoped that Rhome and Cill were having better luck than they were._

* * *

Cill brought the bayonet blade around; slicing the top half of the closest walker's head clean off before he turned to the other two. He'd known that the second Rumer had pulled up with the bleeding moaning blonde that the man was going to cause trouble. And now-as he and Rhome fought their way through the small hospital lobby he knew he'd been right. It was easy to see that the man wouldn't survive the night but Rumer refused to let them even consider not helping him. Going on and on about they were trying to be better than the other few groups of survivors they'd stumbled across in the past three years.

The Ranger rolled his eyes, lunging forward as the next walker struck; the decaying fingers on its sole arm outstretched while its blood soaked jaws snapped hungrily. Cill tried not to notice the stained faded scrubs or the blood smeared ID just below its torn out neck; keeping his eyes away from the picture taped to the side. It didn't matter that this woman had once been like him. That she'd had a family-two blonde little boys and a smiling happy husband from the picture beside her ID. All that mattered is that she was infected-she was dead and gone . . . and in all likelihood so was her family.

He moved, bringing the blade up in an arc just below her jaw; severing the zombie's head just as its jaws snapped again. Cill watched the head roll from the shoulders, the body dropping gracelessly to the filthy tile while the head bounced and rolled. It stopped a few inches from the body, jaws still snapping before the murky red eyes dulled; the jaws open and extended as it finally stilled. He shook his head, barely even turning as he rammed the blade through the last of his half of the walkers; angling the steel edge up through the roof of the walker's mouth as it tried to take a chunk out of him.

Cill grimaced, using his foot to kick the corpse back; dark black blood and chunks of brain oozing down the blade as he held it out to inspect it. He knew the bayonet probably wasn't the most practical weapon but he'd picked it up at the Mendellian right before they'd fled Oakland. He'd gone careening through one of the World War I exhibits when a large mutated infected had tossed him around; right before it had devoured the rest of his unit.

He shook himself, turning to Rhome as she cleaved through the last security guard; wincing as he watched the heavy red ax split the skull of the hissing grasping walker before he could help it. He'd never say it aloud but watching Rhome clear through a horde was like watching a force of nature. You didn't get in her way and once she got started-once she was caught up in pushing through the masses to survive there really wasn't any stopping her.

_Not without killing her anyway._

Rhome put her booted foot against the dead walker's shoulder; using it as leverage to tug the ax free before she turned to inspect the room. He watched her eyes trace every space, every nook and cranny before she moved towards the reception desk; picking through the logs scattered over the counter with a sigh. She glanced up, a hopeful smile tugging at her lips before she looked to the door; all traces of the harshness leaving her as she shifted on her feet anxiously.

"We might actually be able to do this, Cill."

Cill slung the debris and blood from his blade, wiping the rest on the dead nurse's scrubs before he trotted to stand beside her. He glanced over her shoulder, brow raised as he looked over the charts in confusion. It was all medical shorthand-meaning he understood less of it than he did Ro's ramblings about viruses and anthropology.

"How do you get that? Because I have to say dancing around with six biters in the first room isn't exactly my idea of _**encouraging**_, Ro."

She shrugged, pushing her hair out of her face; grimacing at the blood that smeared over her left cheek before she cut her eyes to meet his. The blood and dirt made her skin seem even darker; her eyes light and almost reflective in the poorly lit room. Cill shook himself, forcing his mind on the issue at hand. He could tease her about glowing iridescent eyes later-right now they needed to focus.

"The hospital's been down for almost six years . . . and these walkers seem to have been here. Their emaciated, thin and weak. The doors were locked from the outside but I don't think anyone else has been in here-so there should be plenty of supplies."

Cill nodded, already looking around the desk for pen and paper; scratching out a hasty list while Rhome rambled. While he and Ro took care of their newest acquisition he could send Sol and Rumer to track down supplies; to gather anything they could use or trade. The few scattered settlements were always looking for antibiotics and drugs; willing to trade out ammo and food and sometimes even gasoline for a few tiny bottles. They'd stumbled into a liquid gold mine here . . . and as much as Ro would hate it they were going to take advantage of it.

_Grave robbing or not those supplies could give them another year if they used them right. _

"Good. Then we'll take what we can-_**after **_we patch him up. And before you start I don't want to hear it. You know that this shit is more valuable than gold or gas right now. Especially this grade."

Ro rolled her eyes but nodded, reaching up to shake her hair loose before she reknotted it. She shifted on her feet, glancing around the reception area before she pointed to the laminated map on the back wall. The map itself was still mostly intact but it had smears of blood and what Cill hoped was dirt down the center; the dark mars almost like scratches. Ro moved closer, squinting to see before she huffed; digging through her pockets to pull out the small penlight she favored.

"Whatever, Cill. Let's just concentrate on getting him to the supplies before we worry about what we're taking with us . . . The burn ward is on this floor-past the outpatient and maternity waiting rooms if we go to the left."

Cill clucked his tongue, shaking his head. It looked like a simple enough route but there were too many twists and turns; too many little rooms and office littered through that path to be able to clear quickly and effectively with just the two of them. No it looked like the best way was to go through the ER. The burn ward was just beyond the trauma ward-so if they went right they could clear the larger open room; be in and out as fast as they possibly could.

"Looks too much like a damn labyrinth, Ro. To the right through the ER is probably gonna be our best bet. We'll push into a few more walkers sure but it'll beat walking into a bunch of little dark rooms; praying there's nothing in there."

They studied the map before a noise to their right made them stop; Ro's grip on the ax tightening as Cill shifted the bayonet from hand to hand. Neither dared to breathe as they listened, the faint scratching and hissing; the drag of something shuffling across tile almost like sirens in the quiet. Announcing that they weren't alone-despite what they'd hoped for. Ro turned to him, nodding as she eased around the desk; stepping back towards the darkened entrance to the ER before she stilled. She glanced back, motioning him closer as she shined the light on the doors; both knowing instantly that this hospital hadn't been touched since the outbreak.

_Because from the large hastily spray painted quarantine sign it had been abandoned due to infection._

The double doors to the trauma and triage ward were double chained, a thick old metal lock securing the doors closed even as the dead trapped inside pushed against it listlessly. The doors parted as much as the chains allowed, a murky red eye set in a decaying face visible before it receded back into the shadows. Ro took a tentative step back as the hissing and clattering increased, Cill switching the bayonet out for the M4 as the dead started clamoring against the door; the sounds of nails and teeth scraping against the metal as unnerving as the knowledge that they were only inches from so many infected.

Rhome sighed, turning back to him as she shrugged; pointing back to the map beyond the desk. Cill growled, running his free hand down his face as he grumbled.

"Well that's just perfect; fucking perfect! Of all the hospitals in Los Angeles we have to pick the one with walkers chained up in the ER!"

Rhome shrugged before she turned back to the door; her fingers twisting the pen light over her knuckles as she fidgeted with it nervously. A habit Cill knew meant she was thinking; trying to keep her hands busy while her brain worked out their problem. Finally she sighed, clicking the light off before she pocketed it; moving towards the doors quickly and determinedly. Cill watched as she pushed open the glass doors, blocking it open with one of the broken night sticks before she motioned for Rumer and Sol.

Cill shifted before he sighed, moving to help the two get the stretcher over the threshold as they struggled to push it up the slight ramp. He sure as hell hoped that Ro knew what she was doing . . . or they were all going to be in as bad of shape as the man they were trying so desperately to help.


	3. Chapter 3

_Okay be warned there are some slightly graphic images in this chapter! Lots of gore and blood!_

* * *

**Decency**

Rhome pushed through the doors to the Burn Ward, refusing to look back as she held the battered and blood smeared doors open wide enough for Rumer and Sol to push Albert inside. Cill followed behind them quickly, glancing around the desolate room before he motioned her on; letting the doors swing shut as they scanned the new open area. The walls and floors were in the same state as the Maternity Ward behind them, covered in blood dirt and spent shell casings while time bleached bones and stagnant corpses littered the beds and tiles.

They pushed through, finding the cleanest room before they stepped inside; Ro holding the doors while Sol and Rumer pushed Albert inside. She turned as the men started talking quietly, Cill listing off the few things on the list he'd scratched out while Rumer kept close to the stretcher. Never venturing too far from the group even as his eyes scanned over the room; something in his blue eyes seeming just the slightest bit duller than it had outside. Ro closed her eyes as flashes of the cracked Nursery window flitted through her mind, bile rising in her stomach as she tried to push the images away. She'd come across a lot of horrible things in the past seven years, had committed unspeakable atrocities against people ravaged by the very disease that had caused the Outbreak just so she and her group could survive. But having to walk past the destroyed nursery, having to see the overturned bassinettes and the blood stained blankets and plush toys littered amongst the tiny bones and half eaten carcasses had been more than even she could take.

_Lord knows it didn't inspire her confidence for the survival of the human race._

"Ro?"

Rhome shook herself, turning to Rumer as he looked to her imploringly; his hands practically wringing the makeshift handle to his rebar spear as he shifted uncertainly on his feet. She needed to get a grip on herself. She could fall apart later, when they were free and clear of this blasted city and back out on the highway where they belonged. But right now her friends-her family needed her. And she couldn't afford to slip even the slightest bit.

She straightened, nodding to Rumer as she moved to stand beside Albert; glancing around the overturned instrument trays for a pair of snips she could use to start divesting the man while they waited. Most of his clothing was either burned beyond repair or frayed but some bits seemed to be actually melted into his skin. Something she would have to remove and clean as best she could before they bandaged him or the risk of infection would increase exponentially.

"I'm good, Rum. Why don't you and Sol go ahead and get everything on Cill's list? Actually if it looks like we can use grab it. We don't want to have to come back into the limits again anytime soon."

Rumer nodded firmly, turning to Sol as he took the list from Sol; his light eyes scanning the words as he nodded and hummed to himself.

"We can definitely use everything on here . . . and what we can't we can trade if we ever come across another border town. If I see anything you've missed I'll be sure to add it in. Want me to take your kit? The more room we have to stuff shit the better and faster this is bound to go."

Cill seemed unsure before he tugged the battered duffle off of his back, handing it to Sol like he was handing off a toddler. Ro smirked as she dipped her head, biting her lip as she fought giggling. Only Cill would still be so attached to something as seemingly trivial as a duffle bag . . . She knelt, picking up the scattered instruments from the floor; tossing the dirty or broken aside while she gathered the salvageable few in her shirt.

"Just don't go tearing this up, you hear me? Hell this and the gun are about all I've got left."

Sol nodded as he accepted the bag; Rumer snickering as they rounded the corner out of the ward and down towards the pharmacy. Rhome stilled, watching them go before she shook her head; trying to push the uneasy feeling at the base of her skull away. Sol was a damned good shot and Rumer wouldn't let anything sneak up on him twice in the same day. They would be fine . . . it was just two lefts and right to the pharmacy.

Cill cleared his throat, drawing her eyes up as he nodded towards the too still man on the gurney; his hands clenching and unclenching as he spoke.

"I'll follow 'em, Ro; bring back what we need to help this poor bastard out. Can you think of anything I might've forgotten?"

Rhome shook her head, pushing to her feet to dump the instruments in the sink behind her; not even bothering to try the water. She knew some hospitals had their own reserves and generators but she highly doubted that such a small medical center would.

_They weren't that damn lucky. _

"Not really. You've dealt with more battle wounds and burns than I have at this point . . . Just grab extra alcohol. I don't know where the supply closets are and I'm not about to go traipsing around upstairs when I can sanitize these."

Cill nodded, sliding the M4 off and setting it aside; letting the muzzle rest against the doorframe as he twirled the bayonet over his fingers. After a second he grinned to her, disappearing into the shadows behind Sol and Rumer far too quietly to be as big as he was. Rhome rolled her eyes, turning to rummage through drawers until she found a sealed pack of gloves; blowing the dust off the package before she broke the seal. As soon as she had them over her hands she started slowly peeling the torn burned fabric from Albert's wounds as she shook her head. She worked quickly and quietly, using an easy touch to pull the fabric free of the charred flesh with her fingers; occasionally pulling pieces of metal and what looked like shattered bone out of the wounds.

But as Rhome finished the man's left leg and moved on to the right she noticed something off. The wounds that had bled so profusely before were barely oozing now, the blood thicker and dark as it pooled inside the gouges and cuts. She shifted, leaning closer to inspect the gash she'd just cleaned before she blinked; momentarily dazed as she realized what she was seeing. The gash had been deep, nearly to the bone with a sizeable metal splinter buried in the muscle almost to the tibia . . . but now that she'd pulled the debris free the wound seemed more like a cut. Actually before she'd thought she needed to stitch it closed but now it seemed to have almost completely healed; almost looking like a cat scratch rather than the gaping wound she'd just touched.

She eased back, looking up to Albert's face; brows drawn as she took in the pale waxy skin around the charred flesh of his mouth and chin.

_Hadn't those burns covered almost __**all**__ of his face before?_

"Ro?"

Rhome jumped, yelping as she turned; the ax propped against the gurney in hand and raised as Cill leapt back. She stilled as he lowered his hands, both of them blushing bright before she dropped the ax; glaring at the Ranger as he chuckled. Cill stepped closer, dropping his arm load of supplies at the end of the gurney before he stepped around to inspect their patient; clucking his tongue as he nodded.

"Damn, Ro. I knew you'd probably start but I didn't think you'd be able to get this far. How long was I gone?"

Ro turned, shrugging as she gathered the alcohol and opened the bottles; rinsing off a reservoir before she filled it nearly to the brim. She dropped the instruments in, running her fingers over the snips and forceps. She hadn't thought he'd been gone that long but apparently he had-how else could she explain getting so much cleaned?

"I didn't think it was that long but honestly who can tell these days? Its not like our watches and clocks still work you know."

Cill turned to face her, his eyes troubled as he looked over the stranger's chest; his voice almost distant.

"Yeah but this . . . I swear he was worse off than this Ro. I mean look-" he gestured to his chest and torso, voice low as he stepped closer. "This isn't what we saw before. When Rumer brought him in he was cooked through and through-He _**smelled**_ cooked. But now these burns are barely third degree. I mean there's still charred flesh around his neck and face but there's not as much meat there. If I didn't know any better I'd swear this guy was getting better . . . without us touching him."

Albert moved, a guttural groan tearing through the room before he stirred; his fists clenching and unclenching as he shifted on the gurney before settling. But even from her spot in the room Rhome could see that the flesh on his hands wasn't black and burnt; it was pink and healthy. Almost new. She took a step closer, reaching out to pick up his hand; peeling the glove away as she inspected the damage. The exposed bone-what little there was now-wasn't black and charred, it seemed white and healthy. Just like the tissue and muscle around it seemed to be healing.

She turned to Cill with wide eyes, the Ranger looking back to her just a befuddled.

"What in the hell is going on here? Is this even possible-I mean people don't just miraculously get better from being burned near to death. Not in less than three hours right?"

Rhome ran her tongue over her lips, going to speak when the doors to the room burst open; Rumer and Sol practically falling inside as three figures blocked the doorway. Rhome watched as the figures stepped inside the room, tossing two of the bags on the floor at Rumer's feet while the largest kept Cill's duffle slung over his shoulders. The largest in the front was more mass than actual muscle, jagged scars criss crossing his face and neck; his shaven head sporting haphazard chunks of hair towards the base of his skull. Like he hadn't been able to reach all of it before he'd just given up.

The other two were smaller; thinner with defined wiry muscle. But the taller of the two was wearing the most unsettling thing- a worn shoestring laced through severed human ears, dangling gaily around his neck like some macabre honor badge. Ears stepped up, tossing another three bags to floor to join their own; Rhome's eyes taking in the contents as the bile in her stomach rolled. All of the bags were over flowing with tiny glass bottles, needles, gauze, sterile tape and sleeves of push packets of pills; a few of the med bottles actually rolling out of the closest duffle to roll across the floor. But the meds in their bags weren't antibiotics-they were narcotics and barbiturates . . . meaning they'd stumbled on these idiots in the middle of a fucking drug raid.

"Well, well. Looks like we got ourselves a few visitors now don't we? Now what's a couple a fine looking fellas like you doing here?"

Cill's eyes went hard as he took the three in, Rumer scrambling back while the largest stepped forward; lowering his rifle at Sol's knee. Rhome swallowed, glancing between her brother and the idiots at the door; trying to keep her heart from beating out of her chest as her brain scrambled to work. If she and Cill moved together they could take the first two no problem-even Hefty up front . . . but it left the third free to cause too much damage.

After what seemed like a small eternity the smallest man stepped forward, looking over Cill's tattered tactical vest with a yellow toothed sneer; true malice sweeping over his face before he turned to glance at the incapacitate man behind her on the gurney. The man's eyes took on a new light, something primitive and feral as he stepped closer; Cill moving towards him even as Ears brought his rifle up.

The smallest however waved him off, stepping around Rumer and Sol as he moved closer to the gurney; looking over the man they'd been trying to help like he was eying some great treasure. Or some great delicacy. He trailed dirty fingers just over the exposed skin, practically teetering as he grinned and chortled; muttering to himself.

"Oh yes-what a fine lot we have here . . ."

The man went to touch the open gash on Albert's leg when Rhome moved, speaking before she stopped to think; batting his hand away as he looked to her amazed.

"_**NO!**_ You can't touch him-you'll cause the wounds to become infected-"

She watched the shock fade from amazement to wrath, all traces of the sanity she'd seen before receding as madness washed over his features; his look dark and menacing as he stepped forward. Rhome didn't step back as the man turned on her, his face so close to hers that she could feel his breathe against her skin; that she could almost taste the foul smell radiating off of him in waves. But what bothered her more than the stench of body odor and filth was the almost rotten sweet aftertaste of the man's words.

This wasn't someone sane-and it wasn't someone who was going to let them leave. Not without giving him something . . . or splitting his head open.

"Now we don't want that do we? No we want our big friend back here to be right as rain . . . Everything's so much more fun when they can fight back at least a little."

Rhome glared, catching his hand as he moved to touch him again; all reason leaving her as she felt herself start to get angry. It was apparent that they weren't going to escape this unscathed but this idiot wasn't about to undo everything she'd just done. She didn't care if she hadn't actually disinfected the wounds yet-all that mattered was keeping these things as far from them as she could. And for the moment Albert was definitely one of them.

"I said _**don't**_ touch him. He's hurt-"

Yellow teeth moved so quickly she almost missed it, backhanding her hard enough that her jaw ached; sending her staggering back into the gurney. Her hand slipped, digging into the burned healing tissue of Albert's leg; making her wince while the injured man stirred and groaned. Yellow teeth seemed to perk as Albert showed signs of life, moving to run grimy fingers down his cheeks before he moved onto his arms; pinching the muscle tightly as he nodded.

"Oh yes. This one is well fed . . . He's gonna be real good. But don't worry babydoll. You won't be around to watch us have our fun. _**You **_I plan to keep all for myself."

Rhome's hand came to her face as she glared, Solomon surging forward just as Cill took another step towards the gun propped in the corner. Hefty jerked as Sol moved, the sound of the rifle deafening in the small room. Sol screamed, clutching his leg as he crumbled; blood pouring over his fingers and onto the floor as Rumer dipped to check on him. Ro watched her brother shed his coat, bunching it together to hold pressure on the wound; Cill glaring as he stepped up behind them. Hefty seemed unsure before Ears urged him forward, a voice far too light to come from something so menacing goading the larger idiot.

"Way to go Randal. You're not supposed to shoot our _**dinner**_ full of lead. That's _**your**_ leg."

Yellow teeth cackled as Hefty seemed to sulk, turning back to Rhome as she leaned as far back from him as she possibly could; almost completely on the groaning man behind her. She knew that the added pressure on his chest wasn't pleasant but damn it neither was being told that you were in for rape, torture and becoming dinner. None of them were in an ideal situation. Yellow teeth leaned even further into her, dirty hands on either side of her as he ran his nose over her jaw.

Suddenly the acrid sweet stench to his breath made sense. It was one she'd smelled before-when she'd been researching the effects of Neoprene's Disease within the Biami tribe of Papua New Guinea as a grad student. It was the stench of a man eater; the rotten horrid scent of rotting teeth and human flesh.

"Why so shy, babydoll? I promise it'll only hurt a lot."

Rhome shuddered before she could help it, almost gagging as Yellow teeth chuckled and leaned in; something warm and wet dragging up her neck to swirl over her jaw. She closed her eyes, fingers clenching in the burnt fabric of Albert's shirt as she scuttled back as far as she could; slicing open her hands on the debris still embedded in his skin. She focused on the pain in her hands as his tongue ran over the other side of her neck; trying to block out the sensation as she felt the man beneath her shift and groan. Yellow teeth chuckled again, one of his hands coming up to knot in her hair; gripping the curls at the base of her skull tightly as he jerked her forward. Making her nearly topple off of the gurney before she caught herself; fisting her hands in Albert's clothes and skin again before she thought about it.

"Well looky here boys! The big fella appreciates the show-Why don't we give him something to _**really**_ groan about, babydoll?"

As Rhome tried to jerk away the pained groan beneath her deepened, rolling and rumbling off of the walls in this sinister animalistic growl; every person in the room freezing. Yellow teeth turned back to the Stranger, eyes narrowed as he tightened his grip in Rhome's hair; tugging her away from the man on the gurney and into his chest. Rhome yelped, trying to keep her distance even as Albert started to move; shifting on the gurney as his hands clenched and unclenched.

Yellow teeth turned to her, jerking her hair again; the force behind the move making her neck hurt and ache as she winced. But the scavenger didn't care, his jagged nails digging into her skin as he tightened his grip; his voice barely a hiss as he seethed as her.

"What in the hell was _**that?**_"

Rhome tried to gather herself as hefty and the trophy keeper stepped away from the others; moving to surround the gurney as they raised their weapons. The three men were jittery, shifting anxiously as they kept their guns trained on Albert; Yellow teeth jerking her again as he kept his pistol aimed at the Stranger's head.

"I asked you a question babydoll. And I expect an answer. Now what in the hell _**was**_ that?"

Rhome cut her eyes to Cill; watching as he eased towards he M4 while the others' backs were turned before she turned back to Yellow teeth. She needed to provide a distraction-keep these idiots attention for just a few more moments. Then-after they were dealt with- she was getting her people as far from this hospital; hell this city as she could. And she sure as hell wasn't taking the growling, snarling man that was healing behind her if she could help it.

"I-I don't know. We-" Yellow teeth jerked again as Albert shifted; Rhome screaming as she felt a patch of skin and hair rip away at the sudden move. "_**AH!**_ We found him! Close to the shore. He was hurt so we were helping-"

Yellow teeth opened his mouth, turning the pistol to rest on her temple as he sneered. But just as he went to speak the groaning growling man on the stretcher sat straight up, his head jerking towards the four of them; blazing serpentine eyes wrathful and wild as they moved over them. Rhome felt her breath catch, true fear pushing through her veins as Yellow teeth brought the gun back to Albert; firing off two shots right into the man's chest as the other two staggered back. Albert jerked and surged back, hunching over his legs in a slump before he shook his head; a rich dark chuckle sounding as his shoulders started to shake.

Rhome watched with wide eyes as he sat up, the bullet wounds barely noticeable in the carnage of his chest; very little blood oozing from the slowly closing holes as the man turned to face them. He threw his legs over the side of the stretcher, swinging them back and forth experimentally as he smirked; shaking his head while yellow teeth staggered back with the others. Albert's smirk went from playful to pitying, his eyes narrowing as they flitted over the three men crowded around her; his tone patronizing and indignant as he cracked his neck from side to side.

"You shouldn't have done that."

_Jesus Christ what did they do now?_

* * *

_And Albert is awake!  
_


	4. Chapter 4

_Last one for today. Not too too much gore in here but a good bit of language. _

* * *

**Deal with the Devil**

The world shifted and turned, the edges of the room caving in on themselves before they righted; Rumer barely aware that his sister had his wrist in a vice grip as she drug him down the hall. Cill was right behind them; loaded down the supply bags with Sol practically on his back. They rounded the corner into the pharmacy; Rhome tossing him into the room before she turned back and slammed the doors shut. He watched his sister look around frantically, the same panicked manic look in her eyes that he'd seen during their first encounter with the infected as she searched for something.

"**Shit!** _**SHIT!**_ We need to block this door!"

But no matter what Rumer did he couldn't force himself to react, to look through the room with her even though he knew he needed to. All he kept seeing was Albert-the same barely standing man that had saved him before surging off of the gurney; catching the bastard that had manhandled Rhome by the throat. He could see the man stretch to his full height, lips spread in a cruel smirk as he hoisted the scavenger off the ground; his torn boots unable to touch the tile beneath him as he clawed and scratched at the hand holding him.

Albert hadn't acted like it bothered him though, chuckling before he growled again; his chin and jaw separating as the bottom portion of his face split into these four hooked mandibles. The inside of his mouth was lined with these deep pockets and spikes, his tongue jagged and barbed as it lashed against the other man's nose and eyes; the hooks locking around the man's face as he screamed and tried to get away.

Blood had splattered over Rhome and the other two marauders; gushing down to stain the dirty white tile bright red as the scavenger's body went limp; the sounds of bone crunching and slurping louder than the screams and gasps. As soon as Albert had let the man drop to his feet Rhome had reacted, grabbing the fallen pistol before she turned; catching him by the wrist and dragging him out as Cill made a mad dash for Sol and the bags. Rumer blinked as he heard glass break and fall to the floor, turning in time to see his sister knocking away the rest of the glass covering a fire house and axe in a far corner of the room; dazedly realizing that she was pulling the hose free. He watched as she jerked hard, tugging the thick canvas hose lose before she crossed back to the doors; knotting it through the handles as a cacophony of screams and gunshots echoed through the doors.

Cill eased Sol to the ground, moving to help Rhome secure the door; both sliding down it to slump on the floor. Rhome was covered in blood, her sopping hair almost black while trails of red ran down her face neck and shoulders. She shivered, shaking hands reaching up to wipe at her face as she drew in a staggering breath; closing her eyes as she leaned against the door. Rumer watched her hands move from her face to her neck; tugging the battered cord necklace up from beneath her shirt before her fingers locked around the assortment of pendants. She'd gone back into the Mendellian to get that necklace six years before, the mish mash of trinkets the only thing from their past that she ever carried with them . . . and as he watched her smooth her fingers over the small silver cross he realized she was praying.

_Something she hadn't done since they'd buried Nate three years before._

God he'd killed them. By trying to be a good person, to do right by someone he'd thought had done right by him he'd killed all of them. He'd killed his sister-his _**family**_.

Rumer moved, crawling to Rhome; laying his head on her shoulder as he caught her hands. He was barely aware that he was rocking in place; that his grip was tightening as his eyes watered. All he knew was that he needed to say it, needed to voice it just once before they died. So maybe she could forgive him before the monster he'd brought into their midst devoured them alive.

"I'm _**sorry,**_ Ro. I'm _**so**_ _sorry _. . . I didn't know. I swear I didn't-"

Rhome stilled, eyes opening as she looked up to him; her hands moving to cup his face as she shushed him. Sol scooted as close as his leg would let him, holding the coat to the wound as he winced and shifted. Cill was still leaning against the door, the bayonet spread over his lap while his hands were still fisted in the straps to the bags; the only sound other than Rumer's sobs the crunch of bones and the faint shuffling of the undead trapped behind them. Rhome pulled Rumer close, smoothing her hands over his face and through his hair; her lips against his brow as she whispered.

"It's fine, Rum. It's not your fault. You did what was right-you tried to help someone. It's _**okay**_. _**Everything's**_ going to be okay-"

Rumer looked up, opening his mouth to speak when the doors behind them surged forward; Cill and Rhome tossed back as the hose threaded through the handles caught. Cill rolled, bayonet in hand as Rhome pulled the gun up; a pale perfect arm sliding through the opening to grip the hose. Long white fingers closed around the red nozzle, crunching the metal before they ripped it off completely; the door opening easily as the fire hose slipped to the floor.

Rumer felt his heart start to race as his head started swimming again, Rhome pushing him behind her as she trained the gun on Albert's head as he stepped into the room. The blonde stopped, brow raised before he shifted; letting them see the perfect muscle and new skin of his chest and torso. His face was almost completely healed, his chiseled features and smirking lips almost as terrifying as the monstrous smile they'd seen before.

After what seemed like a small eternity Albert took a step forward, the crunch of his boots against the tile overshadowed by Rhome cocking the gun; her aim never wavering as she shook her head.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Albert stopped before he snorted, giving her a deadpan look as he nodded to the gun.

"Come now, Dear Heart. Surely you know that would be a waste of ammunition. Or did you not learn from your friends mistakes?"

Rhome glared her teeth grit as she kept him in her sights; moving in front of Rumer when Wesker took another casual step closer.

"Those fuckers were _**not**_ my friends-and the only thing I learned is that you apparently like to eat people. Now don't you take another step or we're going to see if you can regrow your head!"

Albert smirked, ducking his head as he chuckled; the sound wrapping around the room like a thick coat of oil, moving over their skin slow and thick. Rumer shivered as Cill shifted closer to Rhome, nudging her in the side. He hissed through clenched teeth, Rumer tempted to roll his eyes as the blonde before them shifted on his feet almost boredly. Like he was impatiently waiting for them to finish before he continued on with his business.

"_**Ix**-nay_ on goading the homicidal maneater, Ro."

Rhome snorted, not bothering to whisper as she glared at the man still smirking at her; her voice hard and determined. "Why? You saw what he _**is**_, what he's _**capable of**_. He isn't going to let us live longer than five minutes if we manage to get by him."

Cill nudged her hard again, voice straining as he gripped the bayonet in his hand tighter.

"Yeah well we want to actually live those five minutes-"

An exasperated sigh broke through their conversation, Albert striding forward another two steps before Rhome fired; the bullet grazing his left cheek and clipping his ear before it embedded itself in the wall behind him. Albert turned slowly, looking to the bullet hole before he turned back; all pretense of humanity fading as he growled. Rumer blinked, yelping when Albert was before Rhome as he opened his eyes; Cill trying to come between them as the blonde hefted Rhome up the same way he had the scavenger before.

Rhome however didn't react the same as the man, bringing the gun up to press against Albert' temple; pulling the trigger just as his mouth started to split and open. Albert staggered, the left side of his face caving as blood and tissue splattered over Rhome and walls; his grip easing up enough for Rhome to slide to the floor. But as she brought the weapon up to fire again he moved, backhanding her hard enough to send her sprawling across the tile; her body careening into the shelves and cubbies as bottles and empty supply boxes fell around her.

* * *

Wesker sighed, reaching up to wipe away the blood as he shook his head; moving to crouch beside the woman trying to get to her feet. He hated to admit it but she was a brave little thing. Incredibly stupid but brave. He rested his hands on his knees as he balanced his weight on the balls of his feet, tsking at her as she pushed up onto her knees. She'd apparently crashed into something glass, tiny slivers of jagged prisms sticking from her skin as she moved. But she didn't stop, her bloody hand closing around the handle of the pistol as she turned to him.

He smirked to himself as she glared at him, her shaking bleeding hand barely able to bring the gun level with his eyes. But somehow she managed, her finger tightening around the trigger as the barrel scraped against his nose; blood oozing around the cuts and gashes in her skin. What a waste it would be to destroy something so willfully stubborn; so dedicated to surviving.

_Especially when it could be molded into more._

Wesker moved, covering her hand as she tried to squeeze the trigger; gripping her hand so tightly she yelped and tried to pull away. He didn't let her though, keeping his grip iron tight as she continued to fight against him; her plump lips pulled back in a bloody snarl as she growled at him. Her bottom lip was split in the middle, her teeth stained dark red while blood oozed down over her chin and dripped to the floor; her jaw and cheek already swollen and darkening.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Now surely you know not to try that again. Don't you, Dear Heart?"

The woman's growl deepened, her light eyes aqua chips of ice as she glared at him; tugging back out of sheer spite as she tried to scuttle back away from him. He raised a brow before he opened his mouth to speak again, to tell her to stop her dramatics and listen to reason when she took him by surprise; spitting right in his face just as he leaned in to speak. Wesker jerked before he growled, tightening his grip enough to make her yelp again; smirking down to her condescendingly as the younger boy behind him broke out of his stupor. The boy moved, hands locking around his wrist as he tugged back; pushing and pulling at his hand to loosen his grip. Wesker raised a brow, momentarily impressed by the valiant effort before he snorted.

_Valiant or not it was futile. _

"Stop! Don't hurt her! Let her go!"

The woman's eyes widened before she tried to push the boy away, her voice becoming frantic as she clutched at his clothes; trying her best to tug him as far from Wesker as she could. Wesker's eyes narrowed, his lips spreading into a knowing grin as he fought the urge to cackle. Valiant and brave or not they were foolish; they showed their every weakness to any enemy willing to exploit them. And Wesker wasn't about to allow such a marvelous opportunity to pass him by. Not when he could use their obvious devotion to one another to his advantage.

"Rumer! Get back! Are you crazy? Fucking run idiot-"

Wesker struck, jerking the gun free from the woman's grasp before he tossed it aside; grabbing the boy by his throat and tugging him close. He let his mouth water the way it wanted to, inhaled the scent of so much fresh blood from so many sources as deeply as he could; the telltale ache to his jaw and chin letting him know that his face was starting to split ever so slightly. The boy started to struggle in earnest, scratching and clawing at his hands and arms as his face started to drain of color; the fear in his scent just adding to the headiness of the moment. But just as Wesker's jaws actually spread something cold and sharp pressed itself hard against his jugular; the metal edge digging into his skin hard enough to draw blood.

He glanced to the side; serpentine red meeting steely aqua blue as the woman dug the small curved blade that had been dangling around her throat among the clutter of trinkets even deeper into his skin. Her own fingers were pouring blood but she didn't seem to care, everything in her stance and demeanor-in her voice screaming that she was prepared to go down fighting. That she would rail against him with her dying breath if it would spare her_** brother**_ his wrath for even a few moments.

_Now__** that**__ was a very useful tidbit of information to possess._

"Put my brother down_**. Now**_."

Wesker let his jaw reknit, lips spreading into a knowing smirk as he shrugged; the boy gasping as he tightened his fingers around his throat.

"And what pray tell will you do if I don't, Dear Heart?"

The blade dug in even deeper, Wesker's dark blood rushing over the woman's hands as she kept applying pressure; the muscle in her arms and shoulders coiled and poised to strike should she need to. There was no hesitation, no falter to her words or false edge to her scent. She was deathly serious as she spoke; her eyes locked with his as she drug the blade just the barest millimeter to the left.

"If you don't let my brother go I'm going to give you a wicked fucking smile to go with that awful mouth of yours."

Wesker paused for a moment before he nodded, dipping his chin just once as he eased his hold on the boy. The young man's face flooded with color, his cheeks reddening and his eyes weren't as wide and panicked as he drew in greedy gulps of air. The woman didn't ease her blade, her bloody raw knuckles still white; the glass embedded in the meat of her hands clearly visible from the strength in her grip. She shook her head, digging the small curved knife even deeper.

"Drop him, fucker. Or I'm going to drop you."

"I doubt you could, Dear Heart. Better than you have tried and failed."

She snorted the corner of her lips tugging to the side in just the barest hint of a smile; the blood covering her face and neck making her eyes seem incredibly light as she shrugged. Like hearing that she would essentially be committing suicide to save her brother was of no greater consequence than the color of the sky.

"Watch me."

Wesker snorted, honestly chuckling at the audacity. Even Abernathy would've resorted to begging and pleading, trying to reason with him and force the issue of his ever waning humanity at this point. But this woman didn't care. She didn't know his reasons and she didn't need to-she was just prepared to defend what was hers to the death if the situation called for it. He considered his options, crunching the numbers and his chances of survival without at least some assistance. He was healing now that he'd fed but he was still weak. Death and near death experiences gave T too much foothold in his system, meaning it took tremendous will power and effort to keep himself under control. To stop himself from becoming as feral and murderous as the infected he heard-felt-fumbling around in the other side of the hospital.

If he went out on his own now he could probably make it back to the shore but why risk it? Especially when he'd just found himself an armed escort. He could let them fight through the throngs of the living dead, let them do battle with whatever pitiful miscreants were foolish enough to try and stop him from reaching his destination. And once he was at the shoreline he could dispose of them however he saw fit.

Who knew? He might even let them live; might gift them a place on the Arcadia and within Umbrella. It was more likely that they would become his next meal but that would need to come once he'd made contact with Ada and Valentine. For right now they worth more breathing and fighting than they were as sustenance . . . but they needed to set some ground rules.

"I have a better idea. It would seem we are both desire something . . . so why not trade?"

She shifted, nodding for him to go on.

"You desire to go on your way yes? For us to part company with _**all**_ of your lives intact. I however desire to return to the shoreline. To the exact spot your _**dear**_** brother** happened upon me. And seeing as in how your people took me I expect you to accompany me-until I am able to rendezvous with my operatives. In return I will spare your lives; let you go on your way as soon as I'm back where I belong."

He shrugged, popping his tight aching shoulders before he continued; trying to act as impervious as they no doubt assumed he was. They didn't need to know that he wasn't fully capable of seeing himself to his destination; no. No if he made it seem like he was giving them the opportunity to atone for taking him in the first place then they would be more likely to behave; be more malleable to his purposes-whatever they would eventually consist of. It was that thought that he let the boy slide to rest on the floor, keeping his fingers loosely caged around his throat as he raised his other hand; pushing his hair from where it had fallen in his eyes and face as he fought the urge to grimace. The sea water had made it course and unruly, the dark blonde curling even as he tried to smooth it. God he was ready to be back among the thralls of Umbrella; to bathe away the blood and stench of this filth he'd found himself in and get back to business as usual.

Wesker sighed, releasing the boy altogether; sitting perfectly still as he scuttled back behind his sister. The boy's eyes were wide and hateful, glaring at him from over her shoulder as he gripped her arms. The girl's eyes tightened around the edges, the grimace of pain flitting across her features so quickly the others missed it-but Wesker didn't. She was tired and hurt-meaning she would be more likely to agree to his terms. And if she wasn't then he would devour them all and be done with it. Fighting his way to the shore would be hell but he _**could**_ manage it in his condition.

_Probably._

He motioned to the blade, brow raised as she continued to dig the edge into his skin.

"Well, Dear heart?"

She grimaced again, her eyes darting to the two men still sprawled across the room. The tallest sighed and nodded, the elder wincing as he clutched his steadily gushing leg; his eyes trained solely on the woman as he dipped his chin. She sighed, glancing back to her brother behind her; her blunt blood smeared teeth chewing nervously on her split lip before she finally nodded.

"Fine. We have a deal. Rumer? Go on over and see to Cill and Sol, okay?"

The boy-Rumer hesitated before she nudged him; jerking her chin towards the others pointedly. The boy pushed to his feet, moving quickly towards the other two. But as his hands hit the bloodsoaked bandage covering the wound Wesker felt his control start to wane all over again; the scent and pools of blood almost overpowering his reason as his stomach growled and gurgled. If there was ever anything to be said about T it was that the virus's appetite was insatiable. It devoured everything in its path, either converting or destroying those it touched. And the bleeding man hissing and cursing in the corner was testing his already threadbare control.

He shifted closer only to jerk at the sharp slice to his neck; the pain and fresh scent of his own blood drawing his eyes back to the woman on her knees before him. She pushed the blade closer, her voice deathly still as she craned herself up; her lips ghosting over his ear and cheek as she spoke. He suddenly wondered who she'd been before, what she'd done for her to possess the knowledge she claimed to know so intimately. And how he could bend that to his purposes if the need arose.

_She would almost be enthralling . . . if he wasn't so tempted to snap her spine like kindling for her disrespect._

"Don't move-don't breathe in their direction. Until we get you to the shore you'll deal with me and only me. If you try one thing against any of them then I'm going to use this knife to skin you alive. You might not be able to die but I am more than happy to educate you on the fact there are_** far**_ worse things than death. And for the record-just in case that last shot to the head did lasting damage we are _**not**_ on your menu. Understood, _**Albert?**_"

Wesker glared, her familiar tone grating his resolve before he nodded. He reached up, catching her hand and tugging the blade back; the skin on his neck finally able to heal now that there wasn't something digging into it. He was tempted to reach up and scratch at the place where the mark should've been, to rub the spot and try and ease the discomfort her little stunt had caused but he stopped himself. He knew once he was back to himself that something as trivial as a knife wouldn't be able to hurt him-meaning her little threat would prove even more worthless than it already was.

_But still . . ._

"That's _**fine**_, Dear Heart."

Her eyes narrowed, her jaw clenching painfully tight as her nostrils flared. She pulled away from him, snorting as she pushed unsteadily to her feet while he rose gracefully; her back popping loudly when she finally straightened. Wesker stopped, momentarily jarred by the sheer difference in their size before he scowled; his wounded pride swelling to life. It was bad enough that the girl's slip of a brother had saved him from being shot and then persuaded the others to care for him-if his swimming foggy memory was anything to trust. But to find out that he'd essentially been threatened by some tiny little thing that barely came to his shoulders?

_It was __**beyond**__ insulting._

She rolled her eyes at his glare, taking one first unsteady step before she seemed to find her balance; striding by him with her head held high as she crossed to check on the others in her group. She knelt, easing the coat away from the wounded man's leg; careful fingers prodding the gunshot as she assessed the damage. She turned back to the other man-the former military officer if the ratty vest he sported was his own- and nodded to the bags at his feet; quietly asking for the few things to clean and dress the wound. Wesker looked the group over as they all fell into what seemed like a practiced but tense silence, his ego only able to handle being ignored for so long before he cleared his throat. Absolutely refusing to be cowed by the vicious look she shot him once she finally cut her eyes over her shoulder at him.

"_**What**_ Albert?"

Wesker straightened, glaring down his nose at her as his temper started to flare.

_How __**dare **__she!_

"Wesker."

She stopped, turning back to him puzzled.

"What?"

Wesker growled, raking his hand down his face in aggravation as he fought to reign himself in.

"_**WESKER.**_ I haven't given you permission to address me so casually and you will refrain from doing so."

The woman stopped before she rolled her eyes again, waving him off as she turned back to the bleeding man's leg. Wesker stepped closer as she spoke, watching as she poured alcohol over the wound; the blood washing away to reveal that while still bleeding the injury itself was more a glance than a direct hit. It would still limit the man's movement but if they could stop the bleeding then he would-should make a full recovery. If he wasn't picked off before the leg healed that was.

"Yeah well I don't remember ever giving you permission to call me _Dear Heart_ but you don't hear me complaining. And there's nothing casual about it-you _**told**_ Rumer your name was _**Albert **_so that's what we've used. So go ahead and pull the stick out your ass and make yourself useful by handing me those bottles of doxycycline. Or is that _**beneath**_ you, your majesty?"

_Christ he was going to kill her before they ever left the building-let alone made it to the shore for him to flag down the others._


	5. Chapter 5

_Okay I want to go ahead and warn everybody-this story will stay dark and gory with horrible language. But this chapter isn't that bad . . . and we get to see a slightly familiar face._ _Now I know that this isn't the way we normally see Wesker but I couldn't resist seeing how he would do in this kind of setting (without all of the tech and countless soldiers to do his bidding). So I apologize now if anyone thinks he's OOC but I swear it will serve a purpose._ _I own nothing but the ideas and my OCs. Thank you Poynton90 for the review-it made my day- and to BLetMeRestInPeacesS for the fave! On with the show!_

* * *

**Shore**

Rhome shifted in the driver's seat of the Jeep, fighting to keep her eyes trained on the desolate road before her. Instead of watching the monstrous man practically draped on the passenger door; looking boredly out the window as they made their way back towards the shoreline. She slowed as they came upon a dark red stretch of asphalt, moving around the remnants of the half eaten corpse strewn across the intersection; not even wincing when her wheels pushed over the already caved head with this decidedly sickening wet crunch.

Her passenger however turned to her, blonde brow raised as his red eyes moved over her face. Like she'd somehow insulted him by running over the cadaver instead of pushing the burnt cars out of her way. She bit her bottom lip, keeping her eyes on the road and the ever approaching shoreline; scanning the side roads and back alleys for a quicker way back to the surf as she ignored him. Because the faster she got this maniac to the water the faster they could be on their way.

_Or more to the point the better their chances of escaping were once they had him out in the open._

Rhome sighed, slowing to take a left down between two crumbling buildings; carefully navigating between the fallen chunks of mortar and brick as they eased their way to the beach and boardwalk beyond. They just needed to get as close as they could in the vehicles; to give themselves as much protection from the hordes as they could until they were a reasonable distance from the beach . . . And then she fully planned on kicking his ass out of her car and being done with the whole ordeal. They'd helped him, pieced him back together and even fed him-no don't think about that or you'll get sick again. As it stood they'd done far more for him than he had for them-even considering his _**gracious **_agreement to let them live for assisting him.

_And she wanted to put as much distance between them before he decided to renege on said agreement and add her people to his appetizer list._

"How_** close**_ do you plan on driving?"

Rhome jerked, turning to look at Wesker as he continued to gaze out the window; his red eyes narrowed as he took in the store fronts and falling in fences. Rhome stilled, taking in the buildings herself before she shrugged. She knew it was a dangerous game to be so deep into such a large metropolis but it was a necessary one. Especially since this is where Wesker just had to be dropped.

_Because his chances of being able to rendezvous with his people increased substantially if he returned to the area they were surely searching to recover him from._

Rhome rolled her eyes, trying not to snort as she pulled the Jeep into one of the parking spots near the front of the closest store. She doubted anyone was willingly looking for this jerk but he insisted that someone was. And that they would be able to go along their way once they delivered him safely to his people. She moved, killing the engine before she reached over the back seat; tugging her axe free from the jumbled mess in the back of the vehicle while Wesker watched her.

The man in question just looked to her like she was insane, his lip curling as he took in the blood stained metal and wood; his odd eyes broadcasting his distaste long before he sighed and shook his head. He motioned towards the axe, his condescending tone laced with sarcasm as he questioned her choice of weapon. But seriously what about this was so hard to comprehend?

"Do you honestly expect to use _**that?**_ Against the infected?"

Rhome nodded to him like he was insane, checking the pockets to her torn jeans as she continued getting ready to step out of the vehicle. She'd stuffed extra gauze and tape in her bag-just in case Sol's leg started to bleed on this little trip- and had scavenged the marauder's handgun. She eased the gun from the waistband of her pants and checked the clip before sliding it back into place, rolling her eyes as Wesker snorted; his voice becoming thicker as he groused.

"Oh yes. _**One **_solitary nearly empty gun is going to do so much good against a horde of zombies. Well thought out plan, Dear Heart."

She felt her left eye start to tick as she turned, forcing herself not to grind her teeth as she considered her options. She could use the last three bullets in the clip to shoot Wesker; push him out of the vehicle and leave him to the walkers and the elements. It wouldn't kill him but it would give them a hell of a head start . . . and if he didn't shut his fucking mouth she might not be able to resist the temptation to feed him the barrel of this gun.

_Especially if he rolled his eyes at her one more time._

Rhome sighed, letting the axe rest in her lap as she knotted her hair at the base of her skull; her fingers moving to smooth over the clunky necklace resting solidly against her breasts. Her fingers moved to the curved Mongol blade, the tacky drying blood on the edge causing her to smirk in spite of her situation. Wesker could act as big and bad as he wanted but she would remember holding that blade on him for the rest of her life-however short it turned out to be.

Something he would do as well from the firm scowl settling on his features as he glared at the blade; his lips tugging down into a deep frown.

Finally she sighed, reaching out to open the door before she stopped; turning back to him with a pointed look. He might be superhuman but the rest of them weren't. And he needed to understand that the way he was used to doing things-subordinates, high technology and plenty of weapons and ammunition wasn't the way the rest of them had learned to survive. Out here it was live to see the next day by any means necessary.

"Look. I know this isn't an ideal situation for any of us . . . but we have to do this one last thing together or it isn't going to work. You got hurt here before-Rumer almost got chomped on and Sol ended up having to save both of you. Now we're all exhausted and Sol's going to be hobbling along with us on crutches-"

Wesker growled turning to face her; the cabin of the jeep feeling too small and cramped now that he'd stretched to his full height and was glaring down at her. Rhome however didn't budge when he snapped; keeping his gaze while she waited for him to get the most recent round of bitching out of his system. Because apparently the man only had three modes he operated in when he wasn't quiet and brooding- bored indifference, bitchy indignation or homicidal rage.

"Another wonderful portion of this debacle. How do you plan to make it to the actual shore with a _**cripple**_ _hobbling _along with you? You'd be better off leaving the _invalid_ with the vehicles-or serving him up as _**bait**_."

Rhome grit her teeth, biting back her anger as she pushed the car door open.

"We've already discussed this Wesker-_**three**_ times since we left the hospital. I'm _**not**_ leaving Sol with the cars. There are obviously other people here than just us-and an injured man all alone in one vehicle packed to the rim with drugs and supplies is practically like inviting the devil to dinner. Sol's going with us. And it _**wouldn't**_ be such an ordeal if you didn't insist that we escort you to the shore like some kind of king."

Wesker snorted, smirking to her.

"I _**am**_ a king, Dear heart. You just haven't accepted it yet."

Rhome rolled her eyes, stepping out of the car with a huff. Seriously the ego on this man!

"Buster the way I see it you're the King of about two things-Jack and shit. And wouldn't you know it, Jack's left town-like every other sane person! So do us a favor and shut the fuck up. The more noise you make the more attention we draw. Which is something we want to avoid-seeing as in we have a _**cripple**_ with us and we're so horribly unprepared to take you back to the assholes who _**want**_ you."

Wesker nodded, dipping his chin once before he sighed; stepping out of the vehicle before he slammed the door. Storming past Cill as Rumer handed Sol the crutches he'd pulled out of the hospital. Cill looked to Rhome as she shrugged, motioning for them to follow as she shoved the gun back into her waistline; Rumer moving ahead with Cill while she stayed back to wait with Sol. Sol grunted as he swung he crutches, nearly toppling before he caught his balance; his eyes blazing as he glared at the crutches.

"Stupid crutches. _***SIGH***_ You know I'm useless like this, right Rhome?"

Rhome shrugged, refusing to comment as she let him hop past her; clenching her fists around the axe handle as she started scanning the shadows. God how in the hell were they going to survive this? She knew next to nothing about the man striding towards the surf-save that he was definitely not human on top of being nerve racking. She had no idea where he'd come from or who was supposedly coming to retrieve him. Would his people be thankful that they'd helped him or would they be vengeful? Were they walking down onto that beach and right into a trap-or worse a horde? And if they were how did they deal with it?

She hated to admit it but Wesker was right-they weren't prepared to handle anything more than a few walkers; maybe another lone marauder. But if there were too many-or something worse waiting on them in the dunes beyond the rubble then they were fucked. Properly fucked with no real hope of survival . . . Rhome sighed, moving to follow the others as Sol stopped for her; her lips pulling into the most reassuring smile she could muster.

They'd survived the last five years with nothing but each other. They could scrape through just one more tiny fray before they hightailed it back to the interstate and the wastelands that the Midwest had become since the outbreak. They just needed to stay on their toes.

And if King Wesker wanted anything else but an 'armed escort' then he was going to have to do it himself.

* * *

Luther West stumbled over the chunks of debris, the gun still clutched in his hands as he scrambled away from the prison. He'd made it through the tunnels, had managed to find a storm drain that led to the surf but now he had no idea what to do. Other than run that is. At first he'd rejoiced, screaming and whopping to himself as soon as the sun had hit his face. The zombies hadn't let him rejoice long, the diggers trying to take him every chance they got but he hadn't cared. He'd seen the Arcadia on the waves, had known that despite the insanity of his situation he could make it to the ship if he could just figure out how.

_And then he'd seen the airships._

He'd fought his way down the shore and through the few buildings scattered beyond it, watching in horror as the black helicopters had opened fire on the deck of the Arcadia. Flames had risen over the bow, explosions causing the massive ship to sway and rock on the already choppy pacific waves. Right before he'd seen black dots falling overboard, some covered in flames and some in smaller pieces; all crashing into the churning red water like bags of cement.

Luther shook himself as he clawed his way up the crumbling brick of a fallen wall, stopping long enough to glance around before he continued on past the burnt building to the street beyond it. He knew that those black dots had been people but there was nothing he could do for them. Just like there wasn't a damn thing he could do for Alice or Claire-or anyone from the prison. Right now he had to focus on keeping himself alive-then he could ponder and worry.

He just had to keep going, had to keep on until he found what he was looking for-whatever it was.

Luther staggered over a chunk of brick as he rounded the side of the building, barely catching himself on the dented and dirty CR-V parked halfway on the curb. He straightened, catching his breath as he reached up to wipe his face; only then realizing something crucial. He turned back to the CR-V, laying his hands on the hood before he jerked back like he'd been burnt. The hood was warm-and not from just sitting in the dying sun. He looked around, straining to hear; his finger moving to the trigger as he exhaled slowly. Suddenly he heard a round of gunfire, two succinct shots breaking through the monotonous roll of the waves and the rustle of the dead clambering deeper in the city.

He stopped, weighing his options before he sighed; moving back towards the shore as he quickly and quietly as he could. Someone else was here and from the sounds of it they needed a little help.

And maybe-just maybe they could help him.

* * *

Wesker barely avoided the next swing of the executioner's axe, ducking out of the way just as the bloody rusted blade scraped by his chest and shoulders. Rhome moved beside him, bringing the blade of her own axe up and into the tyrant's thigh; digging in deep enough that dark foul blood started pouring from the wound. The executioner staggered before it reached for her, forcing Rhome to leave the blade buried in its thigh as she scuttled back and away.

Wesker turned, opening his mouth to yell at the girl for her incompetence when she drew the gun from the waistband of her pants. He blinked as she brought the gun up to aim at the thing's head, nearly flinching when she fired off two shots. He glanced back, watching as the tyrant staggered and collapsed on its knees; blood soaked and gnarled fingers coming up to grasp at the sack nailed to its skull. Rhome sat there in the bloody sand watching as it dug into its head, the gun still gripped in her hand even as the thing seemed to recover.

He rolled his eyes, reaching down and grabbing the woman by the back of her tattered shirt; hoisting her out of the tyrant's reach just as it lunged and reached for her again. The executioner was on them before Wesker could move them back, the longest nails sticking from its skull literally eye level with the woman he'd been pulling away. Rhome to her credit didn't squeak or scream. She steadied her aim and fired, chunks of brain and blood spraying over the damp sand. The executioner twitched as it fell, Rhome pulling the trigger again even though they both knew it was empty.

Rhome sagged against Wesker in his spot behind her, her shoulders slumping as the gun fell to the sand. Her shaky hands went to her face pushing her falling curls out of her eyes as she started to snicker. Wesker glanced down to her like she was crazy before her snickers turned to laughter, fat wet tears trailing down her cheeks as she shook her head; wiping at her face halfheartedly. He growled, nudging her as the tyrant before them shifted again; its scent far from dead enough for this woman to start having a nervous breakdown. He caught her face in a tight grip, forcing her to look at him as he glared at her. Her lips trembled as fresh tears pushed over her cheeks, the moisture leaving trails of clean tanned skin.

"You need to gather yourself, woman. You aren't in the clear yet."

But Rhome surprised him, moving to let her cheek rest against his neck; her shoulders still shaking as she snickered. She motioned to the destroyed beach around them, to the crumbled Umbrella plane and the dismembered bodies strewn about. They'd come upon the shore in the middle of the tyrant's rampage, barely avoiding being added to the death toll as the creature had pulled the small team of six sent to recover him to pieces. For all of the whimpering and tears the group had reacted surprisingly well; the woman against him pushing her brother and the injured man aside while she and the Ranger had engaged the tyrant. Rumer had made short work of any undead that had come close, his controlled calculated strikes blanketing the wet sopping sand in blood and brain matter far quicker than Wesker had ever anticipated. While the cripple-Sol-kept as far from the fray as he could, occasionally using the end of his crutches to push an infected towards Rumer if they managed to get too close.

Cill had emptied the rest of his assault rifle before he'd picked up a discarded gun from the sand; barely able to fire off four rounds before the creature had turned on him. Now the idiot had a gash down his chest for his trouble, the same boy who had saved him trying desperately to stop the bleeding while the cripple knelt beside him; keeping his head and neck still while Rumer kept him talking and aware. Wesker nudged Rhome again as she watched her companions struggle to save their comrade, her eyes wide and tearful as she wiped at her face; her lips trembling as she continued to laugh.

"Sorry I-hahaha-I know this isn't exactly productive but I can't-can't help it! Its laugh or c-cry at this point!"

Wesker opened his mouth, ready to chastise her again when another shot cut through the air; an infected crumbling to the sand beside them as he spun to the new sound. Rhome shifted away from him, pushing to her feet as she rounded on the newcomer; her eyes widening in recognition before she blinked. Rumer was already beside the man, the thick piece of rebar he'd been using to clear through the infected pushed tightly against the man's throat.

The newcomer stopped, his gun never wavering as he kept it trained on the fallen zombie; the executioner groaning and gurgling as it tried to push to its feet. The movement brought both Rumer and the shooter's eyes to the tyrant, the man cursing as he chambered a new round; both hands going to steady the gun as he shifted two steps back from the stirring tyrant.

"Aw fuck me! Does this thing never stay dead?!"

Rumer turned back to him, eyes wide before they narrowed; his lips drawing into a thin white line as he twirled the shoddily constructed spear over his fingers. But his next move astounded Wesker, the sheer force and will behind it awe inspiring and terrifying all at once. This boy, this malnourished starved and exhausted boy pushed past the man with the gun; raising the spear over his head before he brought it crashing down.

Right into the back of the executioner's skull.

Rhome was on her feet the second the spear connected, pulling away from him to grab her brother. Pushing him back away from the infected as she chided him; keeping him as far from the newcomer as she could while the tyrant at their feet spasmed and hemorrhaged. Rumer however just shrugged, uncaring as he nodded to the tyrant; determination clear on his features as the thing turned and roared, clawing at the oozing hole in its skull. Rumer snorted, pushing his blood soaked hair out of his eyes before he motioned back to the creature writhing in the sand; his voice hard and steady.

"We have to decapitate it, Rhome. It's the only way we're going to kill it."

Rhome shook her head, taking the spear from him before she sighed; her shoulders sagging as she argued with her brother.

"No we don't, Rumer. All we had to do was get **him **to the shoreline and we did that. The rest of this isn't our problem-"

Sol turned to her as she pointed towards Wesker, eyes wide before they narrowed; his features setting in a dark scowl as he continued applying pressure to Cill's chest. The Ranger shifted, muttering as he tried to sit up; obviously nonplussed by the blood running down his chin as he glared up at Sol.

"Is she outta her mind, Sol? She just w-wants ta _leave_ it-"

Sol shook his head, eyes hard as he and Rhome glared at one another; his voice dripping with disappointment as the woman stretched to her full height.

"You can't be serious! Are you honestly suggesting we leave this-this thing alive?! To continue to tear through the city?!"

Rhome looked to him like he was crazy before she stepped back towards the tyrant, shoving her boot down on the back of its head as she pushed its face back down into the sand. The sack covering its skull was nearly black; blood dripping from the tears and holes to pool in thick puddles on the sand as it sputtered. But Rhome didn't seem to care, motioning around the ruined buildings and the carnage on the shore; her voice level and logical despite the near hysterical twist to her words.

"What **_city,_** Solomon? Who else do you think this thing is going to hurt? The six of us are more likely than not all that's left."

Rumer shifted, Wesker's gaze flicking to the boy as he stepped closer to his sister; his voice nowhere near as steady as it had been. But he didn't waver, pleading with her to put the creature beneath her boot down. And as Rhome spoke again Wesker saw something he understood, something he condoned more than the mercy the others were trying to get her to show. Suddenly he understood why these men were still alive-and it had very little to do with _**their**_ survival skills.

"There _**are**_ other people here; Ro-there _**has**_ to be. And we can't just leave this thing to hurt someone else . . ."

"Like those animals from before? The _**mongrels**_ that were going to _**kill** _the four of you and serve you up? That were going to_** rape**_ me before they did the same?"

Rumer frowned, Sol looking to her beseechingly as he kept pressure on Cill's chest. His light eyes bore into hers, something in his gaze making the woman falter before she hardened again; her features settling into a sinister scowl as she glared at him even harder.

"Please Ro. I-I just don't want anyone else to suffer. Even if we're the last six people in this ghost town we can at least be merciful.

She snorted, turning to glare at her brother before she sighed; shaking her head. She threw her hands in the air, her voice raw and exasperated as she growled.

"Fuck it."

She moved, tearing the axe free from the tyrant's thigh; bringing the axe high over her head before she swung down hard. Wesker flinched at the sound of bone cracking and breaking despite his efforts not to, his eyes wide as he watched the woman take another wild swing. Blood sprayed over the sand and crushed shells at their feet as the axe sunk into bone, refusing to move as she tugged; the five of them frozen as they watched her brace her foot against the creature's shoulder to dislodge the weapon. One final hard tug freed the axe, another hard swing fully decapitating the tyrant; Rhome kicking its head away from the rest of the body before she turned to the others.

"**There**. Its _**dead**_. Can we get out of here now?"

Wesker blinked as the newcomer lowered his weapon and took a hesitant step forward, motioning to the woman's blood covered face and hands as he looked her over questioningly.

"Are-are you alright ma'am? You're not _**bit**_ are you?"

Rhome blinked before she shook her head, closing her eyes as she let the axe drop to the sand at her feet; her chest heaving as she wiped the blood and gore from her face. After a moment she seemed to recover her senses, covering her mouth with her hands as she sighed loudly. She looked her group over for a moment before she turned back to the newcomer, her eyes straying over him for a few seconds before she turned back to Wesker. Her voice was hard as she looked him over; the threat blatantly clear in her tone as she glared at him.

Practically daring him to go against her, to give her the opportunity to split his skull the same way she had the tyrants.

"Do you have anything you'd like to add to this little discussion, your highness? Or can we all agree that right now we need to get as far from this shore as we possibly can?"

* * *

_Alright! And we have Luther! I swear I couldn't just leave him to fight his way to DC all on his lonesome-besides they had to come together some way right? No one kill me!_


	6. Chapter 6

_And here's a short little snippet until the next big update. Not too much gore or language. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, faved or followed. On with the show!_

* * *

**Boots**

Wesker stood beside the downed Umbrella ship, glaring at the wreckage like_** it**_ was responsible for the disastrous turn of events before he shook his head; striding carefully towards the demolished airship. He had to pry the mangled hatch to the cockpit the rest of the way open, cursing to himself when he saw that all of the equipment was trashed. The communications system itself was covered in blood, what was left of the receiver crushed together so tightly it resembled a tin can rather than a handheld radio. He glanced through the rest of the interior, reaching back behind the blood soaked seat to grab the tactical bag hanging haphazardly from the overhead; rifling through it for a com before he growled and slung it aside. He stepped down and into the main area of the craft, pointedly ignoring the others as they started chattering quietly behind him just to the side of the craft.

_Because apparently introductions were the top priority in a situation like this one._

He ducked, scanning the wreckage for anything he could use; picking up the fallen tactical vests from the floor as he sighed. The name tag across the front was blank; the only color to the otherwise black vest the stark white and red Umbrella logo stitched over the left breast-meaning that this detail had been dispatched from Prime. The group had more than likely followed the beacon embedded in his parachute after his plane had gone down, had tracked him to the shore he'd landed on so they could retrieve him.

And because these idiots had decided to help him his men were dead; torn to pieces by something that was never supposed to be in the Continental US to begin with. Wesker frowned, feeling his anger start to bubble and roll; the reality of that thought sinking in. The tyrant they'd just faced was one of the projects slated solely for the Umbrella Prime research facility. It was never supposed to be tested in the real world-even after everything started to crumble.

_Yet here it was, headless and bleeding not even twenty paces from where he stood. _

A hand on his shoulder made him turn, red locking with aqua blue as Rhome looked to him questioningly; her eyes troubled as she inspected the demolished ship. She stepped around him, moving towards the back of the plane; tugging the blade hanging around her throat up so she could cut away the bright orange netting holding the cargo containers in place. Wesker's frown deepened as he pushed to his feet, dropping the vests to the floor as he moved to stop behind her; his voice cold and hard as she sliced through the nylon nets.

"And just what do you think you're doing?"

Rhome didn't turn to look at him, slowly slicing through each individual strip of net; using her knee to brace the cargo up as it started to slack and slip. In seemingly no time she'd freed the container, pulling it out enough to drag it free; her bloody fingers moving over the key code panel before she turned to him.

"What's in this?"

Wesker blinked before straightened, eyes narrowing as he scowled. Honestly they'd taken him from his one opportunity for retrieval from this hellhole; had drug him through the city to an abandoned hospital-where he would've died from blood loss shock or infection had it not been for the virus in his veins. And now she had the audacity to order him about? To speak to him the way she had the others?

"Private property-_**Umbrella**_ property to be more precise."

Rhome rolled her eyes as she crouched by the crate, motioning for him to continue as she sighed.

"Yeah I got that from the big logo stamped all over everything. But what's_** in**_ here?"

Wesker snorted, turning away from her in a huff.

"What does it matter, woman? It's nothing that can be of any use-not for contacting a way _**out **_of this Godforsaken pit."

Rhome looked at him like he was insane before she sighed, dropping to sit on the cool floor. She patted the container, her voice soft and almost timid as she spoke; so much of the gusto and bravado that he'd seen so far absent as she actually talked with him. Not ordered or insulted, not quipped or bickered; just honestly talked about the situation they'd found themselves in.

"But it _**could**_ be something to help us survive, Wesker. _**All**_ of us . . . I know this isn't how you wanted this to go but it's how it went. If Rumer hadn't found you when he had then the walkers and that big bastard outside sure as hell would have. Meaning you would be scattered up and down the beach just like the poor sons of bitches that came to save you. I can't change any of that . . . but I _**can**_ get us out of here. I can get us somewhere safe enough to rest and regroup; to figure out the next step for _**all **_of us."

She shifted, her bottom lip between her teeth as she glanced up at him through her lashes.

"I just-is there any reason for us to stay here? To pull all of these things out or do we just need to go? We're losing the sun and I sure as hell don't want to be stuck out here at night."

Wesker looked at her for a long moment before he sighed, dipping to type his code into the container as he shook his head exasperatedly. Of all the fucking people in the world to find him it had to be her! A woman who volleyed between coldblooded slaughter and soft whispered words even more than Wong! The container clicked as the keypad blinked; the tiny red steady light flickering twice before it stayed steady green. Rhome looked to him uncertainly as he nodded, carefully opening the lid before she sighed; her shoulders sagging in relief as she started rummaging through the contents of the case.

But what Wesker couldn't understand was why she seemed so happy with such a meager compilation of things. So half of the cases had extra fatigues and personal hygiene kits while the rest carried ammo and boots? Not a single one of them contained a radio or even a homing beacon-making them worthless in his opinion. He didn't care if the ammunition buried beneath the black clothes and vests would protect this woman and her entourage for months on end.

_None of this would do a damn thing for __**him!**_

* * *

Rhome looked back up at Wesker as he brooded off to the side, her eyes raking over him before she sighed; digging through the pants and shirts as she started muttering to herself. She'd fulfilled her promise to get him to the shore but now they were left with an entirely different dilemma. Namely what to do with the man eating jerk now that she couldn't just ship him off or shoot him. It sucked that they were stuck with him for the foreseeable future-even if they'd managed to pick up _**the**_ _Luther West_ in the process-but she knew there was nothing she could do about it.

_Not that the others would sign off on at any rate._

Wesker raised a brow as he shifted on his feet, his burned melted boots squishing against the metal floors as he watched her rummage. She sighed, shaking her head again as she quickly sorted through the clothing; pulling out the closest sizes of pants and shirts that she could find. Rumer and Sol had needed new clothes before this, and now Cill would need something that wasn't covered in blood and more hole than shirt. Plus Luther needed something else . . . because as much as she appreciated the man helping them-and his humble grateful attitude that he'd found someone else- she couldn't bear to stand down mind of him.

_Not when he smelled like he'd been diving in the sewers._

After she had as many pairs of each as she could find she turned, motioning back towards the other crates before she started bundling the clothing together in the bag she'd tossed off. It would be heavy to carry but it would be worth it.

"You can open the rest of this right?"

"_**Why?"**_

She motioned to his tattered clothes, her cheeks staining pink even as she looked to him incredulously. His shirt and pants were torn to pieces, pale skin shining through the gaping holes even when he was still. Said skin was perfect again, no wounds or injuries but Albert himself was filthy . . . just like the rest of them.

"Uh because I don't want you to run around half naked? I mean these-" She held up the closest pair of pants, showing him the label stitched into the seam. "Will work for Rumer and Sol-maybe even Luther. But you and Cill are going to need longer pants and a bigger shirt. And I _**know **_we could _**all**_ use new boots."

Wesker stopped, glancing down to his shoes before he scowled; pushing past her to drag the other crates free. She watched him in awe as he lifted the next container like it was weightless, dropping it with an echoing thud before he started pulling the others free. She shook herself as he turned back to pull another crate out, dipping to type in the code he'd used before; waiting with baited breath as she watched the light flicker before the locks popped.

Wesker turned just as she pushed the top open, shrugging almost sheepishly as he scowled at her in confusion.

"How did you-"

She pushed her hair out of her face, moving to type the same four numbers into the next crate. As the lid popped she grinned, reaching inside and liberating the smallest pair of boots she could find. She dropped to the floor, holding the sole of the shoe next to the worn tread of her own; shrugging when she saw that the boots were still at least half a size too big. But what was she to do? She could always double up on socks to help keep them on her feet. Lord knows she stayed cold enough to not be bothered by the extra layers.

Rhome moved, unlacing her boots and tossing them aside; digging through her bag to pull out the last new(ish) pair of socks she owned. She pulled them on over the others already on her feet, trying not to grimace at the dampness at her toes and ankles as she fought the new socks over the old. When she was satisfied she slid the boots on, lacing them as taught as she possibly could before she held her foot out; stamping the sole on the ground as she nodded.

They weren't a perfect fit but they were passable.

She glanced back at Wesker before she sighed, nodding to his feet.

"Eidetic memory. I saw you type in the code before . . . What size are you?"

Wesker looked to her, genuinely perplexed.

"What do you _**mean **_what size am I? Because if you expect me to-"

Rhome closed her eyes, taking in a calming breathe before she exhaled slowly. Trying not to snap at the idiot glaring down at her incredulously.

"_**Boots**_, Wesker. What size boots do you wear? Because yours are pretty much shot to shit."

Wesker glared before he huffed, dipping to riffle through the container as he grumbled. Rhome however just but her lip, trying not to snicker as the ridiculousness of the situation they were in finally settled. She was here, with some inhuman man who seemed to be part of the last remnants of the Umbrella Corp. The same corporation that had been whispered to be responsible for the outbreak-back when there were more people than biters and everyone still cared whose fault it was. Now she doubted anyone would care who the man actually was-so long as he didn't open his fucking mouth.

"Your_ eloquence_ continues to**_ astound_** me, Dear heart."

Rhome grimaced, not thinking as she reached out and kicked Wesker's shin; meeting his glare head on when he turned to reprimand her. She held up her hand, cutting him off as she pointed to herself; speaking to him like he was a small child. But honestly what did he expect? He was obviously intelligent and cultured-from both his vocabulary and his insufferable attitude. So surely he understood that her name wasn't woman or dear heart.

"_**Rhome**_. My** name** is Rhome._** Not**_ woman; _**not**_ Dear Heart. _**Rhome.**_ If that's too difficult for you we'll have to figure something out. But I expect you to use my name-the same as the others."

Wesker snorted, rolling his eyes as he drug out a larger pair of boots; sinking onto the floor gracefully before he pealed what was left of his shoes off of his feet. Rhome watched the leather slowly separate from the healthy skin, momentarily amazed at how quickly the tissue seemed to even out. In a matter of moments the blonde's feet looked fine, save being slightly red with a few healing blisters near his toes.

She watched him wiggle the digits before he shoved his left foot into the proper boot; pulling the laces taut before he repeated the process with the right. He pushed to his feet, stepping experimentally much the same way she had before he turned back to the crate; pilfering a pair of pants and one of the under armor shirts as he stretched. He folded the clothes over his arm casually, nodding to himself before he turned to her. They inspected one another for a few long moments before Wesker finally sighed and nodded to her, moving to leave the dismantled plane without so much as another word.

Leaving Rhome completely and utterly alone, looking over the mess they'd made. She raised a brow, her jaw dropping on its own as she heard him step out of the plane; his voice carrying over the waves as he barked out a clipped order for the others to get ready to head out. Sol's voice rose above Cill's pained groans; Rumer's voice joining in as her brother tried to smooth over the situation. She sighed, shoulders sagging as she hung her head; closing her eyes as she pressed her face into her palms.

God they weren't going to survive this.

_One of them was going to kill the other-if said other didn't kill them first. _


End file.
